You Taught Me Language
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Bellatrix has been studying under Lord Voldemort since she was twelve years old. But with her seventeenth birthday fast approaching, she isn't that wide-eyed child anymore. As for Bellatrix, she's awakening to the idea that her teacher, her master, is also a seriously appealing wizard. How will each of them cope with the idea of the girl become a woman grown? Bellamort.
1. A Woman Grown

_July, 1968_

"Bella."

She walked into his office and gave him a cursory bow of her head. He was Lord Voldemort these days, not the Tom Riddle who had come back from the Continent four years earlier and clawed his way to some semblance of influence. He sat at his desk and tipped his head at her, shutting the door behind her. Bellatrix stepped closer, folding her hands in front of her.

"Hot as Hades today," said Voldemort, and Bellatrix smirked, looking round the office.

"You are skilled with Cooling Charms," she noted. "It's practically frigid in here."

"D'you mind the chill?" he asked, raising a brow, and Bellatrix's smile widened.

"Not even a little bit," she replied. "You know I'm frozen from the outside in. Or the inside out. Whichever."

"Frozen, are you?" Voldemort tented his fingers together and gestured to the chair opposite him. Bellatrix sat and crossed her ankles, tucking her curls behind her ear and studying the face of the wizard opposite her. She examined the forehead and cheek that looked like they had been burned and healed, the lips that looked chipped and scarred. She looked at the one eye that always seemed swollen, like it had taken a punch, and the slightly greying hair that was combed backward. She still found him handsome, somehow. She always had, ever since he'd shown up on her father's stoop looking for money and loyalty.

"Do you remember that first dinner?"

He'd been in her mind, she realised. His Legilimency was powerful, and she never bothered even trying to resist. She'd long ceased taking offence at his invasions. She nodded. Of course she remembered that first dinner. It had been June of 1964. Bellatrix had been twelve years old, freshly home from Hogwarts, and Voldemort had arrived at the Black family home in London. He'd been Tom Riddle then, at least publicly. He'd been invited to stay for dinner.

"All through the meal," Bellatrix said, "I listened to you talk about putting things to rights for the magical world. I listened to you talk about building a movement that would last a thousand lifetimes, that would be bigger than any of us. I listened to you beseech my father for funding and his fealty, and all the while all I wanted was to prostrate myself at your feet and swear myself as your soldier."

"My twelve-year-old soldier." Voldemort quirked up half his mouth. He tapped his fingertips together and whispered, "After dinner, you ran up to me in the corridor and begged me to let you in. What was I meant to do with that child?"

"You agreed to train me," Bellatrix nodded. "And that you have done. Master."

He shut his eyes. His throat visibly bobbed. She had only recently begun using that word, but she knew he liked it. He liked the idea of being a master, of having servants. His fingers tightened round themselves, and Bellatrix hummed,

"You have taught me Necromancy, and poison-making, and curses, and -"

"Theory. All theoretical knowledge." Voldemort sounded almost frustrated. "The things I could teach you, Bella… if you were of age and could do magic without the Ministry hounding your wand…"

"Well, I shall be seventeen in September," Bellatrix noted, blinking. Voldemort sighed, licking his bottom lip and staring at her. He nodded.

"Yes. You are very nearly a woman grown."

Suddenly Bellatrix's stomach twisted. The hairs on her arms prickled. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and lowered her eyes to her lap. She felt very strange just now. She had always found him handsome. For years they'd bantered. They'd worked together in close quarters. But with one comment - one single comment - he had made her head spin.

She was nearly a woman grown. What did he mean by that?

"Bella."

She snapped her eyes up, and his face was serious as he asked,

"Do you want a drink?"

"A… a drink?" Bellatrix dragged her fingers through her hair and gulped. "I'm not allowed to drink."

"I make my own rules here," Voldemort said. He rose and walked over to a large wooden cupboard, which he opened. He pulled out a dark bottle of wine and two crystal glasses, balancing them all in one hand and arm as he shut the cupboard. He brought the wine glasses and the wine back over to the desk and used his wand to uncork the bottle. Then he poured two glasses of red wine and handed one to Bellatrix. She accepted, staring down into the liquid and contemplating that the most alcohol she'd ever had was the minuscule amount in Butterbeer. She scratched at her head and sipped the wine.

Bitter. It was bitter, and it tasted like wood and fruit. She winced, pulling the glass away from her mouth and setting it on the desk. Voldemort laughed a little at her, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip in a way that made Bellatrix shiver.

"If you're going to be a grown-up witch, you must drink wine," he told her, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"Is that a rule?"

"I told you; I make my own rules here."

Bellatrix huffed a breath. Lord Voldemort kept an office in Malfoy Manor, where he also had an apartment of rooms. He'd lived here for two years now, with his old friend Abraxas. Bellatrix was a frequent visitor. She looked round the office and thought of how many times she had been brought here by Tom Riddle to learn about raising the dead, to learn about poisoning enemies. He had honed her mind, sharpened her wits here. The learning had happened over school holidays, of course. Soon enough, Bellatrix would go back to Hogwarts yet again, for her sixth year of school.

"Yes, you leave on the first of September," Voldemort noted, in her head again, "but you do not turn seventeen until the twenty-first of that month. That means I can't properly teach you Occlumency or any of the other skills I mean to impart to you until the Christmas holidays."

Bellatrix picked up her wine and sipped at it. She stared at Voldemort, trying not to pull a face at the wine, and she set the glass down again.

"Occlumency," she repeated. "You mean to teach me Occlumency, Master?"

He sucked in air hard and let out a shaking breath. His teeth sank into his lip. She knew why. It was that word - _Master._ She sipped more of her wine and whispered,

"You mean to teach me Occlumency."

"I mean to teach you to be my soldier," Voldemort snapped. "Isn't that what you want? What you've always wanted?"

"Yes." Bellatrix felt her smile fade. "It is."

She drank the last of her wine and set the glass on the desk. Voldemort poured her some more wine, and she picked it up with a trembling hand. She held her glass in her shaking fingers, and she asked,

"When will I get to fight for you?"

"When there's a war," Voldemort replied simply. "You'll kill for me."

Suddenly he rose from his chair, striding around his desk. Bellatrix stared up at him, and something compelled her to set down her glass of wine and to slowly rise from her chair. The lone glass of wine she'd drunk had been enough to set her head to swimming, in her inexperience with liquor. She stepped closer to Voldemort and gazed up at him, wondering,

"Have you gotten taller?"

He tipped his head and shook it. "No. Why? Have you gotten shorter?"

"You seem particularly tall today," Bellatrix informed him. He narrowed his eyes down at her and let out a little choke of a laugh.

"I remember when you were a flat-chested child staring up at me with _innocence_ in her eyes. How things change," Voldemort said. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and giggled a bit.

"Yes. Things change. I am no longer flat-chested. But, with all respect, are you really sure I was ever innocent?"

"No." Voldemort shut his eyes. "No. You never were innocent. But you were a child."

"I was." Bellatrix knitted her hands together before her. "Not anymore."

"Nearly." Voldemort's voice was just a whisper then, and his fists balled at his sides. He shook his head, eyes still shut, and murmured, "Still some time before you're -"

"A woman grown," Bellatrix finished for him. She studied the features on his face that had once intimidated and frightened her, the ones she'd always found handsome. She gazed at the eyelashes concealing his dark stare. When he finally opened his eyes and looked at her, she said in a quiet voice,

"How I wish I were a Legilimens, so that I could see what you really think of me, Master."

His nostrils flared, and his chest rose and fell quickly beneath his heavy black brocade robe. He shook his head a bit and mumbled,

"That's the wine talking. I ought not to have given it to you. You should go home now."

"All right," Bellatrix agreed, her ears ringing and her eyes burning with humiliation. "Will you take me, please?"

"Erm… use the Floo Network," Voldemort suggested, touching at his forehead. "Don't feel much like Apparition just now. Go use Abraxas' fireplace to leave the same way you came. Goodbye, Bella."

Bellatrix felt real tears forming in her eyes now, and though she tried her best to fight them off, they boiled up and nearly bubbled over onto her cheeks. She shrugged and asked in a helpless voice,

"Have I angered you? Are you cross with me, Master?"

"Stop calling me that!" he growled, his voice rough and hard. She jolted a little at the harshness in his voice, and she sniffled a bit. _Why?_ she thought, knowing he'd perceive the question. _Why shall I stop calling you that?_ Suddenly Voldemort's hands were on her shoulders, and he was panting through his nose, and his eyes were sharp as flint as he snarled, "When you call me _Master,_ it crosses a line, Bellatrix. You have been my student; you have been a child. You have been the little girl I've been training up, but now it's… you are…"

"A woman grown," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort's eyelids fluttered shut. His breath slowed and calmed, but his fingers tightened round Bellatrix's shoulders as he said softly,

"You are not the urchin, the little creature, who came begging for lessons in the Dark Arts. You've a grown witch's form now. Soon enough, you'll have wizards clamouring for you, if they aren't doing so already."

Bellatrix scoffed and shrugged. "Just Rodolphus Lestrange. He's desperately in love with me, I think."

Voldemort opened his eyes slowly and nodded.

"We'll have a war, and when we do, you will fight for me and kill for me." He took a half step closer to Bellatrix and noted, "You are no child now. I have made my peace with that."

"You do not seem so very peaceful," Bellatrix observed. Very much on instinct, she touched at the place on his chest above his heart, and he seemed shocked by the contact. But he reached up and covered her hand with his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, and he seemed almost sad as he asked,

"Do you remember, when you were thirteen, and I taught you that the Egyptian Pharaoh Shepseskaf was a wizard who had turned his children into Inferi? You listened to that story with all the rapt of attention of… you were an eager pupil. Do you remember?"

"I remember, Master." Bellatrix stepped a little closer to him and squeezed her fingers on his chest. "Do you remember last year when you made me memorise the instructions for making Paralysing Potion and Convulsing Draught and recite them five times in a row? I still recall every ingredient, every turn of the stirring stick in the cauldron you had me commit to memory. I could make those poisons now."

"And you will." Voldemort nodded. "You will. Do you remember when you were fourteen and your cousin Zyrene got married at Castle Rosier, and you disappeared for two hours? No one could find you. I knew you'd vanished up into the attic where your grandmother kept all of the heirlooms that interested you. But I didn't tell anyone I knew where you were."

Bellatrix grinned and squeezed her hand harder on his chest. She chomped her lip and recalled, "I came down all covered in dust, and my mother nearly tanned my hide with her wand for it. Then you danced with me."

"Then I danced with you." Voldemort smirked. "Dusty little thing that you were. It would be different now; you were still a child."

"It would be different," Bellatrix repeated. His hand splayed atop hers, and she swallowed hard as she stared up at him. "Dancing would be different now."

"Yes, I think it probably would," Voldemort nodded. He cleared his throat and stepped back from her. "What have you got planned for your birthday?"

"I haven't got anything planned." Bellatrix gave him a sad smile. "You know very well that I haven't got any real friends."

Voldemort stared then at the two glasses of wine on his desk and blinked a few times. He finally said,

"I'm sure Rodolphus Lestrange will make the day special for you."

Bellatrix coughed out a little noise. "He'll try."

Voldemort's cheeks darkened a bit, and Bellatrix felt a sudden sting of confusion. Just what was happening here today? He was making her tingle, making her stomach coil with… with _want_. He was blushing at the idea of young, pimply Rodolphus Lestrange giving Bellatrix attention on her birthday. What was this? Where was her steadfast teacher?

"Master?" Bellatrix whispered the title. He raised his face to hers, and he asked in a quiet voice,

"Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"Yes, you did." Bellatrix gulped. She wanted to kiss him, all of a sudden. She wanted to fling her arms around his shoulders and push herself up onto her toes and press her lips against his. She wanted to smell the ocean on him. She wanted to put her cheek to his brocade robe and feel it scratch her skin. She wanted to -

"Bella."

She stared at him, at the way his eyes were flicking up and down her body before settling back on her face. His features twisted a little, and he finally shut his eyes.

"Hot as Hades out there," he said. "Stay cool. Goodbye, Bella."

"Goodbye, Master." Bellatrix whirled on the ball of her foot and strode toward the door of his office, knowing she really did need to leave now. She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard a single pained word from behind her.

"Bella."

She turned her face to see him standing with his hands folded before him, his lips pinched into a tight line as he said stiffly,

"See you, then."

She curled up half her mouth and nodded, turning the knob. "See you."

**Author's Note: **_**To Be Beguil'd By One**_ **will be finished very shortly. Real Life has been very difficult lately; I appreciate my readers' patience and understanding with my absence from that story and writing Bellamort in general. I look forward to finishing **_**To Be Beguil'd By One**_ **as well as fleshing out this story. **

**I will say this - I have received negative comments in the past on stories where Bellatrix is very young and I will just ask that if the age gap isn't your thing, kindly move on and read something more to your liking. Thanks.**


	2. Debutante

"Cygnus. Good morning."

"Good morning, sir." Cygnus Black III stepped into Lord Voldemort's office with a cheerful disposition. Voldemort couldn't help but smirk a little at Cygnus Black. The man had been a sniveling little worm of a boy in school, but he'd worked his way up as a shrewd financial planner for the wealthiest in wizarding society, and now he was a fantastically wealthy donor to Voldemort's cause. And, of course, he was Bellatrix's father.

"What brings you here?" Voldemort asked. "I'm sure you're busy today, what with the Debutante Ball tonight."

"Ah, yes. Bellatrix is being presented to the Sacred Twenty-Eight along with Aurora Rowle, Posie Parkinson, and Margot Crabbe. All four girls are lovely; all ready to be shown to the wizarding world as the grown women they've become."

Voldemort pinched his lips and sighed. "Bellatrix isn't seventeen until the end of September."

Cygnus laughed a little and tipped his head. "But all the good marriage prospects will be watching her tonight, sir, won't they?"

Voldemort's stomach churned a bit at that. He scowled and mumbled again,

"What brings you here?"

"Ah. Of course." Cygnus slapped his hands on the sides of his robes and said jovially, "I have come, sir, to tell you that I have transferred another seven thousand Galleons into your Gringotts account just this morning. A donation, from Druella and myself, to mark the occasion of Bellatrix's presentation. We hope you will accept."

Voldemort blinked and nodded. "I am grateful. Seven thousand will go far in helping to pay my newest Ministry spies."

"Ah. Yaxley and Rookwood," Cygnus said knowingly. "They spoke with me about joining the movement. I think it's splendid, simply splendid, that they're in fully now. The others will come, and we will find money to pay whomever needs paying. Shall I see you tonight, then, sir?"

"For the Debutante Ball." Voldemort dragged his fingertips over the edge of his desk and gave one curt nod. "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss one of the top Pureblood society events of the season, now, would I?"

Cygnus gave Voldemort a look that seemed almost shy, and he said, "She'll be glad to see you there. She's anxious about it."

"Bella? Anxious?" Voldemort scoffed. "I find that difficult to believe."

"She has to wear white; it has her in quite the fit." Cygnus grinned and shrugged. "Little girls, no?"

"But she is not a little girl anymore," Voldemort pointed out. "Or isn't that the point of this ball?"

"You're very right, of course. She's all grown up now," Cygnus nodded. "See you tonight, sir."

"Thank you again for the donation," Voldemort said as Cygnus nodded and turned to go.

* * *

When Voldemort - still known to most of those attending this party as Tom Riddle - walked into the ballroom of Malfoy Manor later that evening, a little hush fell over the space. People were impressed by him, he knew. He made people wonder. He made them think. The ones who had joined his movement already were in awe of him, and others feared him. Many were simply curious. He was, after all, a known Half-Blood interloping into Pureblood society. But everyone knew that Tom Riddle had earned his way here. The mystery lay in what had transpired over the past twenty years or so. He'd gone to the Continent; what had he done there? How had his face become warped and scarred the way it had done? Why was he so solitary?

Only Bellatrix seemed comfortable around him, though of course she'd been a hanger-on since she'd been twelve years old. They had a natural rapport, the two of them. She acted as though he were almost a friend, a teacher and companion with whom she might have long discussions or thoughtful perseverative pacing sessions. Their interactivity was easy. It had always been easy. But it had always existed between a grown man and a child, and now things were different. Tonight, she would walk in here on her father's arm to be presented to Pureblood society as a grown witch, ripe for marriage and the world at large.

Voldemort plucked a flute of Champagne with two floating cherries from a passing House-Elf's tray, and he sipped at it as Yaxley came walking up to him. Voldemort nodded to acknowledge the blond, stern wizard who now served in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"How go things?" Voldemort asked simply.

"I've got the ability to directly see any and all concerns coming into the department, sir," Yaxley said in a soft, almost dangerous voice. "I will be able to monitor just what the Ministry thinks is going on when it comes to Dark magic."

"Good," Voldemort nodded, "because soon enough there will be real activity when it comes to Dark magic, Yaxley, and the Ministry will indeed be taking note. I am pleased to have you in there."

"Your attention, if you please!" A voice suddenly called out through the room, magically Amplified, and Voldemort snapped his attention to see Abraxas Malfoy and his wife Bettina standing with their son Lucius at the head of the ballroom. Abraxas waited for the din to die down, and then he proceeded to say, "The Malfoy family is honoured to host this year's Debutante Ball. Please, give your kind attention to the young witches being presented to you this evening."

The hired orchestra of enchanted instruments kicked up into a stirring march, and the doors opened as the revelers who had gathered broke into applause. Into the ballroom walked four stately wizards on whose arms were four nervous-looking girls. Two were a little older, Voldemort knew, and Bellatrix was the youngest, having not yet turned seventeen. She walked in last, and when he caught sight of her, his breath hitched.

She was in a strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline, tapered to her tiny waist, with enormously full skirts of white lace. She had on white satin gloves to her elbows and had her hair pulled back into an elaborate braided style. She had on loads of makeup, too - coral lipstick and copper on her eyes. She looked lovely. She looked…

She looked all grown up.

Voldemort gaped and stared at her as the first three girls were presented to society. Aurora Rowle, Posie Parkinson, and Margot Crabbe were led in turn by their fathers up to the centre of the parquet floor, where they descended into deep curties to the mad applause of those gathered. Finally, it was Bellatrix's turn. Cygnus walked her up to the middle, and for a moment, Voldemort feared she would slip and fall or something. She was unpractised in high heels, he thought, and she might trip on her long skirts. But she managed just fine; she was elegant and serene. She dipped into a reverent curtsy, holding it as people clapped.

Then she raised her eyes and stared right at Lord Voldemort. He sipped his cherry Champagne and blinked, staring back at her. She slowly rose, and Cygnus led her away. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder at Voldemort, meeting his eyes again, and once more he took a sip of his drink. He flicked his eyes to where Rodolphus Lestrange stood hungry and watching, feasting his beady little eyes upon Bellatrix as though she were a meal to be devoured. Voldemort huffed. He wanted to touch her. Why did he want to touch her?

She was no child now. That was plain and clear by the way her dress fit her. The bodice curled over her breasts and waist and hips, over her woman's body. Her arms were lithe and thin but had a softness to them that had not been there in childhood. Her face was angular, almost harsh, where once her cheeks had been round and her eyes had sparkled with wonder. She had grown up right before Lord Voldemort's eyes, and now tonight she was being thrust upon society as an adult.

And he wanted to touch her.

He watched, bile sharp and sour in his throat, as Bellatrix danced with her father alongside the other debutantes. Then she danced with her grandfather, and then she danced with Rodolphus Lestrange, and that was just entirely too much. Voldemort swigged his way through a tumbler of firewhisky as the Lestrange boy led Bellatrix in a swaying two-step on the dance floor, but then he couldn't take any more.

"Pardon me. Sir?"

Voldemort snapped his eyes down to the little blonde girl who had come dashing up beside him. Narcissa. Bellatrix's little sister. She was just now about how old Bellatrix had been when she'd started out as Voldemort's pupil. And what a difference there was between the sisters, he thought. Narcissa had come to the party in a simple, modest burgundy dress, her blonde hair in a bun at the back of her head, looking for all the world like an innocent child. Bellatrix had been a child once. She wasn't a child anymore. Voldemort drank more firewhisky.

"Hello, Narcissa," he said coolly. Narcissa twined her fingers together and leaned in.

"I wonder if you'd be good enough to ask my sister to dance tonight."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. He set down his empty tumbler on a passing Elf's tray and asked,

"What makes you think she wants to dance with me?"

"She confided in me," said Narcissa in a low voice. "She said that if she danced with nobody else at all tonight, if she only danced with her teacher, then she would consider the Debutante Ball a smashing success. She was so nervous, so anxious about tonight. So I wonder if you would consider -"

"Of course I will." Voldemort gave a crisp nod. "Thank you, Narcissa."

He walked away, feeling the liquor a little, and he approached the dance floor. Bellatrix was finishing up her two-step with Rodolphus Lestrange, and she curtsied to him as he gave her an awkward bow.

"Thanks for the dance, Bellatrix," Rodolphus said contentedly. "You are so lovely tonight. Oh. Hullo, sir."

"Good evening, Mr Lestrange." Voldemort smiled mirthlessly. He turned to Bellatrix. "May I have the next dance?"

Her eyes went wide, and she nodded emphatically. "Yes, of course."

"Thank you." Voldemort slid into Lestrange's place, putting one hand on her bare left shoulder blade and flinching at the feel of her skin beneath his. She shut her eyes and palpably shivered beneath his touch. They linked hands, and she reached up for his shoulder, and then the music began - an easy waltz.

For a long moment, Voldemort just danced with Bellatrix in silence, knowing he was wasting time, knowing he should say something. Finally, _finally_, he informed her,

"You were very elegant during your presentation. I half-expected you to slip and fall."

"Have you so little faith in me?" Bellatrix quirked up her mouth at him, and he tipped his head.

"I just remember that time you were very tired after a Deb Ball and fell down the stairs at Yaxley House as you and your parents were leaving."

"I was twelve!" Bellatrix protested. "It had been a long night."

"You're not twelve anymore," Voldemort pointed out, and she shook her head.

"No, I'm not. You said it would feel different."

He blinked. "Dancing, you mean."

She brushed her thumb over his, sending a strange shock down his spine. He tightened his fingers on her back and felt her hand cinch on his shoulder. They stepped a bit closer. He swallowed hard as she asked,

"Does it feel different than it did before?"

His lips parted a little, and at first he did not answer. He just moved with her - _one, two, three -_ but then he finally admitted, "Yes. It feels different."

"Do I look grown-up tonight?" Bellatrix asked him, and he was dizzy then. He nodded.

"Mmm-hmm."

"And you're going to teach me Occlumency." Bellatrix stroked at his shoulder, actually _stroked_ there, and Voldemort thought he would just pass out on the floor. He wanted to kiss her. Why did he want to kiss her?

"Bella." He had always said her name like that, curtly, a reprimand. Sometimes she would lose focus during studies, and he would bark her name at her. Sometimes she would arrive late by Floo Powder, and he would greet her with a gruff utterance of her name. So he said it like that now, harsh like he always had, but when her eyes looked concerned, he softened his tone and whispered, "Bella."

"Master." She murmured the syllables, and they rolled off of her lips in a way that made Voldemort nearly groan aloud. He wanted her now. He wanted to feel her skin. He wanted to taste her lips. He wanted to crush her mouth with his, the two of them against a bookshelf as he pressed his weight onto her small frame. He wanted… why did he want all of that?

"Your sister told me to dance with you," he blurted, and Bellatrix's face fell a little. She nodded.

"I see."

"I would have asked you anyway," he insisted. "Still, it is good to know you were amenable to the dance."

"I would dance with you for the rest of the night if I could," Bellatrix muttered, glancing away toward her second cousin Yoris. She sighed. "I suppose there are all sorts of people I have to give dances to. My feet are going to be awfully sore tomorrow."

"I've Butterfly Weed Balm, if you find yourself in need of it," Voldemort mumbled. She looked back up at him and asked,

"Shall we have studies tomorrow?"

"Would you like that?" he asked, and before she could answer aloud, he snuck into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency. He could feel the pulse of what she was thinking.

_Damn the lessons; I just want to be near you tomorrow. I just want to kiss you, to touch you, to -_

"Bellatrix." Now Voldemort hissed her name like he was a snake, and she looked frightened. She could always tell when he'd been inside of her head.

"I'm sorry, Master," she whispered, but he shut his eyes and murmured back,

"I've got half a mind to take you to my office right now."

She was silent then. When he opened his eyes, the music had stopped, and Bellatrix pulled back to curtsy.

"Do it," she dared him. "Take me to your office."

Suddenly he could imagine all the wonderful, terrible things he would do to her alone right now, realising that both of them wanted it. He gnawed his lip and shook his head.

"You look inexcusably beautiful tonight. And you are all grown up, and soon enough I'll make good on that fact. But tonight you need to dance with your cousin Yoris and all the others. Goodnight, Miss Black."

"Miss Black?" she sounded wounded then, like an animal who had been struck, and suddenly Voldemort found himself very much out of control of the situation. He stared at her, at her lovely face and her smooth neck and her perfect shoulders and arms, and he mumbled,

"Come with me."

He walked briskly out of the ballroom, passing through throngs of people as he made his way to the elaborate wooden doors. He went out into the dark, heavily paneled corridor, and once he was out there, he whirled around. Bellatrix followed him out, her white lace skirts rustling around her as she approached him.

And then he moved.

He waited for the door to shut, and then he wrapped one arm round her waist and pulled her close. He cupped her jaw in his other hand and bent down, and the second his lips touched hers, she squealed. She immediately tossed her arms round his shoulders, mussing her white rose corsage on her wrist and not seeming to care. She wanted more. She was pressing herself against him, up on her tiptoes, her chest heaving against his as she breathed quickly through her nose. Voldemort flushed hard between his legs but broke away and whispered,

"Mmmph; we mustn't linger, Bella."

"Master," she whined, and it was enough to elicit a choked little noise from him as he gently set her back down on her feet and pulled her away a bit. He savoured the feel of her waist beneath his hands. He rubbed at her arms a little and felt the soft skin there.

And then he reminded himself that her birthday was not until the twenty-first of September, that though she had grown and was no longer a child, she was still off-limits to him. She squeezed her eyes shut, seeming to recognise the same thing, and she complained,

"Christmas is so very long from now."

"It'll fly by," Voldemort lied. He licked his lip and knew he needed a moment to collect himself. He gulped and muttered, "I'm going to my office for a few moments. Go dance. Beautiful witch."

He turned and stalked away from the student he'd taught to raise the dead, the little girl who had begged him to teach her to make poisons, the woman he'd kissed.

"Master, do you mean it?" she called from behind him, and he walked backwards as he raised his eyebrows curiously at her. She shrugged. "Do you really think I look beautiful?"

"All the time, Bella," Voldemort nodded, and he turned again, making his way toward his office.

**Author's Note: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing. I am leaving for Hawai'i in a few days, but I will write whenever I can.**


	3. Dreams

'_Bellatrix, why haven't I told you a hundred thousand times how beautiful you are?'_

'_Master…' She hummed against his lips and petted his chest with her fingertips. His skin was smooth and hard at once beneath her touch, and she whimpered a little. Voldemort bent to kiss her, so much harder this time than he'd done in the corridor at Malfoy Manor. He slid his tongue into her mouth, and she squealed a bit against him. Her fingers convulsed on his bare chest, and his hands were all over her - searching, petting, tightening. She shut her eyes and drowned in him, in the feel of him, and then -_

Bellatrix awoke with a gasp, sitting upright in her curtained bed. She breathed heavily as she realised she'd been dreaming of him, of her master. On instinct, she slid a few fingers down under the blanket and between her legs, and she touched the pads of her fingers to the slick, wet folds betwixt her thighs. She huffed a breath and lay back, whispering two words that carried such weight.

"_Lord Voldemort._"

He had been everything to her for the past years of her life. He had been her tutor, her mentor, her guide. He had been her friend. He had become her master. And now, she wanted him, so very badly, and the night before, he'd kissed her in a way that showed he wanted her, too, at least a little bit. Bellatrix kept touching at herself as she wrenched her eyes shut and licked her lip, imagining the bare chest from the dream. She imagined his lean arms, his body hovering over hers. Bellatrix moaned a little and felt a wet flush around her fingers. Then, suddenly, she heard the door to her bedroom open, and their House-Elf, Pinky, called out,

"Breakfast is ready, Miss Bellatrix!"

Her joy spoiled, Bellatrix pinched her lips and yanked her hand away from her legs. She dressed in a simple black tunic and black leggings with flat boots, and when she pattered down the stairs to the dining room, everyone else had already arrived. Andromeda looked morose with her porridge, but Narcissa was eagerly slathering clotted cream onto a scone.

"Here she is! The debutante herself!" Druella Black wrapped Bellatrix up into an uncomfortable embrace that Bellatrix did not return. Bellatrix sat and mimicked Narcissa in doling out some clotted cream on a scone, and as she did, her father said,

"You did beautifully last night, darling. Rodolphus Lestrange was not the only interested party."

Bellatrix chewed her lip and nodded. "So glad to have made the cocks come crowing, Father."

"Bella, dear," scolded Druella gently, and Andromeda did not help one bit when she said,

"I noticed you sneaking out into the corridor with Tom Riddle, Bellatrix. What were the two of you up to?"

Bellatrix scowled at her younger sister, munching on her scone as she insisted, "He was just helping me calm down after so much excitement."

"And are you off to see him again today?" Andromeda pressed, spooning some porridge and letting it plop into her bowl. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"What business of yours is it if I do go and see him?"

"I'm sure the Malfoys get very sick of you just showing up in their Floo fireplace," Andromeda mused.

"Girls! Enough fighting!" Druella said, slapping her fingers on the edge of the table. "Really, that is enough. Andromeda, you know very well that Bellatrix has been studying under… Mr Riddle… for years now. We have allowed that because we know he holds the future for wizarding society, and -"

"Ha! That man is nothing but a narcissist," Andromeda cackled.

"Careful, Andy," warned Narcissa, and Cygnus Black III looked quite cross.

"Andromeda, you are excused from the table," he said. "Go."

"But I haven't eaten my porridge," Andromeda protested. Cygnus shook his head.

"You speak ill of him here and you're excused. Goodbye."

"Hmph." Andromeda shoved her chair back from the table and pushed her way by Narcissa and Bellatrix. As she passed Bellatrix, she huffed, "Have fun with your boyfriend today, Bella."

An hour later, Bellatrix stepped out of green licking flames into the Floo fireplace in the coral-coloured parlour of Malfoy Manor where she'd been arriving for years. She called out,

"It's just me, Mr and Mrs Malfoy. Bellatrix Black!"

There was no answer, so Bellatrix opened the door from the parlour to the corridor and walked carefully down the centre of the runner. When she reached the door on the left that led into Lord Voldemort's office, she knocked a few times, and after a moment, she heard his voice say,

"Come in."

Bellatrix opened the door, smiling at him, but he had his head in his hands at his desk and was staring at the wood grain. Bellatrix's smile vanished, and she shut the door as she asked,

"Is everything all right?"

"Monstrous hangover," he explained. He looked up and shrugged. "You don't know what those feel like yet, because you're entirely too young to have them."

"I see." Bellatrix tightened her lips into a line and knew then what the matter was. He was thinking about what they'd done, the two of them, kissing in the corridor. She'd noticed that he'd disappeared to his office for most of the rest of the ball, only reappearing visibly drunk toward the end. Had she tortured him in some way with that kiss? She sighed and asked,

"May I sit down, please?"

"Yes." He wandlessly pushed her seat out for her, and she sat opposite him. She did not dare tell him that she'd dreamed of kissing him without his shirt on, that she'd touched herself a little to the thought of him. She cleared her throat and said,

"I had rather hoped for a lesson today. Perhaps more information about that Irish necromancer who created the Inferi to guard Leprechaun gold? Or maybe you might instruct me on a new way to curse objects. We had been talking about putting Shrieking Damnations on jewellery the last time that we -"

"Bella." He raised his face to look at her, and she shut up at once. There was pain in his dark eyes; she could see it at once. She had caused him pain somehow. That thought made her throat burn with bile, and she shook her head a little as she whispered,

"I'm so sorry."

"I dreamed of you," he informed her, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open. He continued, "I dreamed of kissing you, being above you, my fingers in your hair. I dreamed of you killing an enemy on a rainy field and then dashing into my arms to celebrate. And when I woke… Bella…"

She shut her eyes and pushed forth the thoughts of her own dream, of touching herself. He was in her head. She knew he must be. So as she powered forth the memories of what she had done this morning, she heard a broken little noise come from him, and when she opened her eyes, she saw his chest heaving.

"Hugh O'Fogarty used Inferi to guard Leprechaun's gold very effectively; he kept it properly hidden for seventy-five years," Voldemort said. "It wasn't until he got very drunk and told a friend of his all about it that his defences were destroyed and the gold was stolen."

"Thank you for the lesson, Master," said Bellatrix with a nod. He let out a breath and continued,

"To put a Shrieking Damnation on a necklace, you'll want to circle your wand in a spiral moving outward, anti-clockwise. As you spiral your wand, incant seventeen times, _Karalax Maxima_. It is an old and ancient curse that will impart itself into the stones and metal."

Bellatrix gazed into his dark eyes and nodded again. "Thank you, Master. I shall remember that."

"See that you do. You are my student, and I have spent years teaching you the Dark Arts," Voldemort said, his breath puffing as his chest rose and fell. "I won't have you going back to school to engage in silliness now that you've got boys tripping over themselves to marry you."

"Oh." Bellatrix blinked a few times, staring at her fingernails as she mused, "I don't much want to be married any time soon after leaving school, Master. I've more important things to do."

"Like what?" he snapped, and she lowered her hand as she sucked on her lip.

"There's to be a war, isn't there? There are to be battles. I'm going to make poisons for you. I'm going to curse objects for you. I am going to kill people for you. I shall be entirely too busy to be married."

Voldemort's throat bobbed, and he whispered, "You are off-limits to me, legally, until the twenty-first of September."

"How off-limits?" Bellatrix tipped her head. "And who's watching, anyway?"

"Bella." Voldemort shut his eyes, and she felt compelled to rise from her chair and walk around his desk to where he sat. She stood beside him, and she could smell the ocean on him. He looked up at her, and she asked again, more softly now,

"How off-limits, Master? When each of us dreams of the other?"

"Bella." He sounded choked, pained, but he turned his chair and spread his legs a little. Bellatrix stepped up between his knees, standing awfully close to him, and on instinct she snarled the fingers of one hand into his thinning, greying hair. He tipped his head back a bit, and he whispered,

"Terrible creature. You shall ruin me."

"You have made me. Formed me like clay in your hands," Bellatrix told him, bending down until her lips brushed his. She murmured onto his mouth, "You took a wild little urchin and you crafted her into a Dark witch, Master. She is yours now. Take her. Take _me_."

"Bellatrix!" He sucked in air hard through his nose, his hands flying to her waist. He pulled her a little closer, and then he kissed her. He drew her lips onto his, pressing them together a few times. He dragged his tongue along Bellatrix's bottom lip and suckled a little. She moaned, feeling everything come alive. She squeezed at his shoulder with one hand and his hair with the other, and she dug into the kiss. She let her tongue go into his mouth, and he immediately pulled at it with his own. They tangled, knotted together as their teeth knocked once or twice. Bellatrix hummed on his lips and felt drenched between her legs.

One of his hands went from her waist to her backside, compressing his fingers into her soft flesh through the fabric of her leggings and tunic. Bellatrix yelped a little in surprise at the touch, at the way he'd dared to really _feel_ her, and she edged closer to him. She broke their kiss and breathlessly huffed,

"In my dream, your chest was bare."

"No. That's too far," Voldemort said, shaking his head. He sounded hungry as he rubbed at her backside again and murmured, "Believe me; I wish I could… mmph."

"Master." Bellatrix kissed him again, harder this time, and she felt herself completely losing herself to the kiss. But then, very suddenly, there was a knocking on the office door, and Bellatrix flew back from Voldemort's chair. She gasped, and he growled,

"Really, Cygnus?"

_Cygnus? _Her father had come here? Bellatrix staggered away from Voldemort's desk as he cleared his throat, red-cheeked, and called,

"Enter!"

The door opened, and Cygnus Black III came walking merrily into the office. He saw his eldest daughter, who undoubtedly had swollen, pearly lips and pink-stained cheekbones and a guilty look on her face, but he just nodded and said,

"Sir, I've come because I wanted to let you know that there were six thousand Galleons pledged in donations last night at the Debutante Ball. I had meant to have Bellatrix tell you, but I'd forgotten."

Voldemort shut his eyes, sighing very heavily, and he nodded.

"Thank you, Cygnus. Bella, you may go home by Side-Along Apparition with your father. We've discussed enough for today. Thank you."

"When shall I come back?" Bellatrix asked, knowing she sounded a bit wounded. _Tomorrow,_ she thought. _Please say tomorrow._ But Voldemort just shrugged a little and said,

"I'll send you an owl. Good day."

Bellatrix put her lips into a line, thinking of his hand on her backside and his tongue twined with hers. She could still taste him, could still smell him, as she walked away with her father and said over her shoulder,

"Good day."

**Author's Note: A very happy Easter tomorrow to those celebrating, and a Happy Passover to those celebrating.**


	4. Promises

Lord Voldemort was still just anonymous enough to do his own shopping. And so it was that he went to Diagon Alley with the intention of purchasing spider legs, Puffskein hair, and wolf's blood for use in a potion meant to keep hair from greying. His was going entirely too silvery these days for a man of only forty-one, and though Voldemort knew the premature ageing was the result of his Horcrux-making, it still irritated him endlessly. The anti-grey potion needed redoing every month or so, and silver hairs still poked through every now and then. Now Voldemort was clear out of ingredients. He'd have to buy a few extra things to mask the fact that he was shopping for a hair dye.

He left the apothecary with a linen sack full of ingredients, and he was about to head to Knockturn Alley for a trip through Borgin and Burke's when he heard a voice call,

"Oh, Mr Riddle!"

He whirled round, and he saw Cygnus Black III and Druella Black walking toward him. It had been Druella who had called out, and Voldemort flashed her a small smile of acknowledgement. As the Blacks neared, Voldemort said,

"Morning. Doing some shopping?"

"The girls had a few things they needed," Druella said. "They're in Madam Primpernelle's. Well. Andromeda and Narcissa are in Madam Primpernelle's. Bellatrix loathes the place; I think she went into Eeylop's to get some treats for her owl."

Voldemort smirked a little and shook his head. "No, she isn't much for makeup, is she?"

Druella flicked her eyes to her husband and then asked, "Have you heard the news about her, sir?"

"About Bellatrix?" Voldemort felt his cheeks warm. It had been three days since he'd kissed her, since he'd squeezed at her body and thrust his tongue between her lips. He shook his head no. "What news?"

"Rangus Lestrange and I signed a contract, sir," said Cygnus Black. "Rodolphus and Bellatrix are to be married just as soon as she leaves school. He'll graduate after this year, of course, and then she'll have one more, and then they'll be married. They are formally betrothed now."

Voldemort's mouth fell open. His stomach twisted into an ugly coil of something he couldn't quite place. He gulped and nodded.

"Congratulations," he said, this throat dry. "What news."

"Ah! Here she comes now." Druella beckoned for Bellatrix as she approached with an Eeylops bag on her arm. She looked positively crestfallen as she walked toward her mother and father. She met Voldemort's eyes, scowling, and said,

"Hullo."

"I hear congratulations are in order," Voldemort told her.

"Are they?" Bellatrix replied. Druella huffed a breath and snapped,

"We have been over this, Bellatrix. Your betrothal to Rodolphus Lestrange is a great honour, both for you and for our House. You _will_ be joyful and glad of it."

"Yes, of course, Mother." Bellatrix looked more glum than ever as she informed Voldemort, "I am very grateful for the arrangement."

"Perhaps we could speak in private," Voldemort suggested tightly, glancing around. "Just for a moment."

Bellatrix frowned at him, and Voldemort realised how stupid he'd sounded, asking for privacy with her in the middle of a London street. He shut his eyes and muttered to Cygnus,

"If I could just take her back to my office for a little while, Cygnus…"

"Is something wrong, sir?" Cygnus asked, sounding almost offended. Voldemort swallowed past the dry knot in his throat and said,

"I would merely like to speak to Bellatrix, alone, if possible. About her engagement. To properly congratulate her. As her teacher."

He was blathering on like a moron, he thought. But Bellatrix stepped up to him and threaded her arm through his, and she said,

"Side-Along would be quickest, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. I'll have her back shortly, Cygnus," Voldemort promised. He stared down at Bellatrix and Disapparated from the spot, whirring through the black pinching void until he and Bellatrix came to inside of his office. He had thought about warding up Malfoy Manor against invaders, putting the Apparition Point out beyond the garden gate, but they weren't at that point yet. No one was coming for Lord Voldemort yet. So he appeared in his office, and when he did, Bellatrix staggered backward away from him and wrapped herself up in her own arms.

"They gave me no choice," she choked. "They signed that contract without even asking me how I felt about it."

"Well, your consent will be needed for the wedding, obviously," Voldemort said, realising at once that it wasn't actually very obvious to Bellatrix how any of this worked. He sighed and said, "You've got plenty of time. All of your sixth and seventh years. And then, if you consent, you will marry the Lestrange boy."

"I've got far more important things to do than to be marrying Rodolphus Lestrange," Bellatrix spat. "Far more important."

"Have you?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Like what?"

"Like fighting for you!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "I can't be producing an endless stream of children when there's to be a war! I need to be battling for you. I want to interrogate your prisoners; I want to use the Cruciatus Curse on them. I want to murder your enemies for you! I can't become my mother."

Voldemort's heart had set right to racing at her words about what she would do for him. He gulped and stepped closer to her. "You will never be anything like your mother. You will be an entirely different animal than any who has come before you, Bellatrix, and I will cherish that about you."

"Then I must not be bogged down by the trappings of marriage!" Bellatrix shrieked. She tore at her hair a little and whirled away, seeming upset. "Anyway, I do not want to be…_intimate_… with him. With Rodolphus Lestrange. I do not want him to see me without my clothes or to touch me. I have those thoughts about one man alone."

"Bellatrix," Voldemort purred gently. "You are mad if you think that you and I could ever -"

"Not even when I'm really and truly grown?" Bellatrix whirled on him. "When I've had my seventeenth birthday, you would never lie with me?"

"Of course I would, but I am not going to marry you!" Voldemort said, a bit defensively. Bellatrix scoffed and shook her head.

"I am not asking you to marry me, Master," she insisted. "I am asking you to be physical with me whenever you are willing, to teach me, and to guide me in the war to come. That is all I ask."

"And what of the Lestrange boy?" Voldemort pondered, taking another step closer to Bellatrix. "Will you simply not marry him?"

"I will… I will honor the contract," Bellatrix said. "The engagement contract. And I will make a decision about the wedding in two years. I already know what that decision will be. But I will not create discord and chaos now by breaking off the contract."

"Wise." Voldemort closed the gap further. "You are wise."

"Am I something else?" Bellatrix stared up at him, her wide eyes hooded, her full lips parted. She finished closing the distance between them, and she gazed up at Voldemort in a way that made him feel profound hunger. She finally asked him, "Am I desirable to you?"

"Yes." He whispered the word, just one word, and he reached out to hold her shoulders. She smiled a little, a cheeky little half smile, and she reached between them and shocked him by lacing one hand into his robes and squeezing a little between his legs. She got hold of his half-hard cock and started stroking it through the material of Voldemort's trousers and robe, and he sucked in air through clenched teeth as he whispered,

"Vicious little minx; you'll kill me."

"I only want to touch you, Master," Bellatrix hummed. She palmed his growing erection and murmured, "I only want to touch _you_."

"Not the Lestrange boy," Voldemort nodded. He reached up to lace his fingers into Bellatrix's wild curls, and instantly the scent of roses filled his nostrils. He bent down to kiss her head, to smell her hair and breathe her in, and he huffed as Bellatrix touched his cock through the fabric, "You don't want to touch the Lestrange boy."

"No; I only want to touch you," Bellatrix affirmed. "I want to touch you every hour of every day; it's a thought that keeps me awake some nights."

"Mmmph." Voldemort's mouth fell open, and he coughed out a little noise as Bellatrix quickened and deepened her touch. If she didn't stop soon, he was going to come in his trousers. She was going to make come burst out of his cock and leak into his clothes. He couldn't allow that. He must now. He wrenched her hand away and whispered down to her,

"Vicious little minx; you will indeed kill me."

"Please let me finish," Bellatrix begged, but Voldemort shook his head and insisted,

"I promised your father I'd have you back there soon. We only came here so I could congratulate you in private, remember?"

Bellatrix tipped her head and threw up one eyebrow. "Well, then? Where are my congratulations, Master?"

Voldemort slid his fingers through Bellatrix's and squeezed, and he lowered his lips to hers as he muttered against her mouth,

"Congratulations on your engagement, Miss Black. I'm sure you'll be a fine wife to Rodolphus Lestrange. I'm even more confident that you'll be a fine soldier for me, and that one day you will warm my bed most pleasantly."

She giggled and pressed her palms to his chest as he kissed her deeply. She smiled when he pulled away, and she whispered,

"Thank you, Master."

"Let's go," he said. "I promised I'd have you back."

**Author's Note: Apologies for the short chapter length; I am on Kaua'i in Hawai'i on vacation and am writing whenever I get the chance. Thanks for reading.**


	5. Wine

Bellatrix wasn't sure what made her take the wine.

Of all the rules she'd ever broken, _stealing alcohol_ had not been one of them - yet. But here she was, sitting alone in her bedroom, with an uncorked bottle of red Elf-Made wine that she'd taken from her parents' cupboard downstairs. Bellatrix stared at the bottle and remembered the way Lord Voldemort had scolded her about drinking wine in his office. If she was to be a grown-up witch, he'd said, she must drink wine.

So she knocked back the bottle and swigged. She gulped down drink after drink of it, bitter and cloying. She sputtered a little and spat a bit back into the bottle as she tried to stomach it all. Long minutes passed as Bellatrix finally found a rhythm - drink, swallow, rest. Drink, swallow, rest. She started to feel sick halfway through the bottle of wine, but she pressed on. After all, hadn't Lord Voldemort told her that if she was to be a grown witch, she must drink wine? _Drink, swallow, rest._ She chugged the wine down and told herself that she was doing what he'd told her to do. She was being a grown-up witch, drinking loads of wine. Soon enough she reached the bottom of the bottle, and she slowly rose to her feet and stumbled, dropping the bottle onto the ground.

This was bad, she thought. She wasn't just tipsy. She was properly drunk. Sloshed. Blitzed out of her mind. Her head was absolutely swimming as she opened her bedroom door and waddled down the corridor. She had places to be. People to see… well. One person. She held fast to the railing on the stairs as she slid down three steps at once in her drunken state. She managed the rest of the way and wondered if she'd woken anybody. She ambled on unsteady feet through the foyer and into the parlour, which was dark as everyone had gone to bed.

Bellatrix knew that what she was about to do was wrong. Sneaking out of her parents' house and into Malfoy Manor at midnight was wrong. But she was going to do it anyway, emboldened by the wine and spurred onward by the knowledge that he wanted her. He did want her. She knew it. He'd shown her that several times now. So Bellatrix went into the parlour and took a fistful of Floo Powder from the container to the right of the fireplace. She stepped into the fireplace and decided not to shout, in order to avoid waking anyone. Her head whirled and whirled as she said quietly but clearly,

"_Malfoy Manor!"_

Bellatrix was sucked back into the cool, licking emerald flames and pinched back into a black void for a moment. Then she was sent skittering out into the parlour at Malfoy Manor where their Floo entrance was located. It was pitch black and quiet as the dead. Bellatrix scampered to her feet, feeling unsteady, as though the room were spinning. She knew she'd essentially just broken into Malfoy Manor; it was not strictly legal to enter another person's home via Floo without their permission at any time, much less in the middle of the night. But here she was. She wasn't exactly about to go announcing her arrival in the corridor like she usually did when she came to visit Voldemort's office.

Instead, she crept out into the hall and looked round for evidence of anybody awake. All she saw were the few portraits on the wall that were always there, but the portraits seemed to be sleeping. Bellatrix tiptoed as quietly as she possibly could through the darkened corridor and up a flight of stairs. She knew, intellectually, where Lord Voldemort's quarters were. She had never been to them, but she knew where they were located, at least.

What would he say, her showing up a bottle of wine deep at midnight? What would he do? Would he scold her and send her away? Surely not. Would he kiss her in the doorway and drag her inside as they scrambled to get their clothes off? No, probably not that, either. What would he say? What would he do? Bellatrix walked down the corridor, nearing the door that she knew led to his quarters, and suddenly she heard a soft voice from her left.

"What are you doing here, girl?"

Bellatrix whirled, nearly falling to her feet in her drunkenness. It was a portrait, a beautiful young woman in a field full of sheep. The young woman shook her head and wondered gently,

"I have not seen you here before, yet here you come in the middle of the night. What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," Bellatrix whispered. "Please, leave me be. Don't tell the Malfoys."

"Oh, is it a secret?" the young woman grinned. "I love secrets. Go on, then. I won't tell."

"Thanks." Bellatrix turned, her head feeling heavy from the wine now. She carried on until she reached the dark brown wooden door that she was only relatively certain was Lord Voldemort's. She paused outside the door with her fist hovering over it. Dare she knock? Dare she not?

She was engaged to Rodolphus Lestrange. She would not marry him. She was the student of Lord Voldemort. She would kill for him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted everything from him, and she wanted to give him everything. She pinched her lips and knocked.

Then she waited for what felt like an eternity, and she knocked again.

Eventually, the door opened, and Lord Voldemort stood before her looking mussed and tired, wearing what appeared to be a black velvet dressing-gown over grey pyjamas. He stared down at Bellatrix as if she had five heads, and he finally whispered, the same as the portrait,

"What are you doing here?"

"I did just like you said to do, Master," Bellatrix replied, "and drank wine."

"You're drunk," he surmised, and Bellatrix nodded until her head felt like it would come off.

"Oh, yes. Very much so," she affirmed. "I drank the whole bottle. All by myself. Just like a grown witch would do."

"That's not…. That isn't… come inside." Voldemort opened the door a little, and Bellatrix stepped with him into a small sitting room. It had stout brown furniture and dark paneled walls. Voldemort wandlessly raised the level of light in the lanterns on the walls, and he mused to Bellatrix as he shut the door,

"You've broken into Malfoy Manor, coming here in the middle of the night by Floo without permission."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sure my parents would be devastated to know I'd stolen a bottle of wine and snuck away, too," Bellatrix said. She dragged her fingers over the wooden back of the divan, and suddenly her fingers hit another hand. She looked up to see Voldemort before her, shaking his head.

"You're slurring your words," he informed her, and Bellatrix giggled softly.

"Am I?"

"How much wine did you say you'd had?" He dragged his fingers over Bellatrix's on the divan, making her shiver, and she whispered,

"A whole bottle."

"What did you come here for?" he demanded. "Sex? You think I'd take that from you when you're drunk like this?"

"No, Master." Bellatrix lowered her eyes, but a hand tipped her chin up, and suddenly there were lips on hers. She gasped, and then he murmured onto her mouth,

"You think I'd strip off your clothes and mine when you'd had a whole bottle of wine to cloud your mind?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "No. Probably not."

"Don't think I don't want it." Voldemort stepped closer to Bellatrix and aimed his hand at the Wizarding Wireless. A droning, instrumental piece was playing, and he started to pull Bellatrix into a dancing stance, dragging her away from the divan. She let him arrange their bodies, let him put their hands together as she held his shoulder and he touched her back. They started to sway to the sound of the clarinet and the violin and piano, easy and slow, and Voldemort murmured down to her,

"It feels different now. Dancing with you."

"Does it?" Bellatrix shut her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not marrying Rodolphus."

"Why don't you worry about that when you need to worry about it?" Voldemort suggested, "and right now you can concern yourself with dancing."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix continued swaying, but she was too drunk to do it elegantly. On instinct, she leaned forward and tucked her head against Voldemort's chest. He brought their hands closer to their bodies and laced his arm more tightly round her back. She felt him kiss the top of his head, and she heard him muse,

"No, you're no child anymore. Tomorrow we'll learn about vampires. I want to teach you about Baktu, the Romanian vampire I encountered in my travels. He consumed up to ten Muggles a day at times in his search for new uses for human blood."

"That sounds ghastly," Bellatrix said with a smile against his chest. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Wicked little thing that you are," Voldemort huffed. "You like everything I like."

"Does that please you?" Bellatrix raised her eyes to him, feeling a bit queasy. He was blurry, and she knew her words were a mess as she said, "I want to make you happy."

"Bella." Voldemort licked his bottom and shrugged. "You've always made me… you have always… you are different from the others. In many important ways."

The song ended and someone started talking, but Voldemort held Bellatrix in the dancing stance and stared down at her. He finally whispered,

"No one, not in all my years of living, has pleased me the way you please me, Bellatrix Black."

Her eyes welled then. She blinked quickly, unsure of whether she'd been brought to the verge of crying by the wine or by his words or both. She gazed up at him, and he continued,

"You make me happy. You do."

"Tell me how to make you happy right now," Bellatrix begged him, and his throat bobbed as he glanced over his shoulder. To his bedroom, she realised. Did he want her in his bedroom? But he turned back to Bellatrix and released his hold of her, taking her face in both his hands and touching his forehead to hers.

"You should not have come," he whispered. "If Abraxas finds you, you'll get us both in grand trouble. I'm going to take you by Side-Along to your bedroom at your parents' house, and then I'm immediately going to leave. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix felt her stomach sink. She watched as Voldemort wandlessly shut off the Wireless, and then he took hold of Bellatrix's hand and Disapparated. Bellatrix felt so sick when she came to in her bedroom that she started to gag, and was on the verge of vomiting when Voldemort murmured,

"_Nonemesis._"

"Thank you." Bellatrix felt the anti-sickness charm take hold, washing over her like a balm. She looked at her bed, and then at Voldemort, whose breath was coming quick and shallow through his flared nostrils. He shook his head and shut his eyes, and he mumbled,

"I need to go. Now."

"Please. It can be quick and quiet," Bellatrix beseeched him, but he gave her a warning look and whispered,

"If you think I am going to take your virginity in your parents' house whilst everyone's asleep, you have lost your mind."

Bellatrix chomped her lip and nodded. "Night, then. Master."

"Goodnight." He stepped closer to her and cupped her jaw in his hand, bending down to kiss her. He deepened the kiss, letting his tongue snake between her lips and drag over the roof of her mouth. Bellatrix moaned softly, and he pushed his fingers up into her hair. He kissed her again, harder this time, and he backed her toward the wall. Bellatrix sucked in a breath when she hit the wall, and as he pressed himself against her, she reached into his dressing gown to try and fondle his cock through his pyjamas, But he pulled her hand away and shook his head, dragging his tongue over her lip and whispering,

"I need to go."

"All right, Master." Bellatrix was breathless and dizzy as she slumped against the wall. He slid his knuckles along her neck and stared at her like she was a steak and he was a starving man. His throat bobbed, and he mumbled,

"What a wretched temptress you are."

"Better than being a child," Bellatrix said, tipping her chin up. He scoffed a little and kissed her forehead, humming against her skin,

"Sleep off that wine. Your head will pound in the morning. Oh, and…" He aimed his wand at the empty bottle of wine she'd dropped onto the ground. She watched it Vanish into Non-Being, and she gratefully smiled at him. She smirked up at him and asked,

"You certain you don't want to stay?"  
"I'm certain I do, which is why I need to go _now_," Voldemort told her. He petted her hair a little and shook his head. "A whole bottle of wine all on your own, then sneaking into Malfoy Manor. What got into you, hmm?"

"You did," she answered simply, and his playful smile faded a little. He nodded and bent to kiss her lips carefully, and he whispered,

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Master," she replied. "When shall I see you again?"

"Tomorrow, most assuredly," he said. "We have vampires to learn about, remember? You are still my student."

"Of course." Bellatrix curled up her lips. "What time?"

"Whenever you feel like rolling out of bed and your head isn't pounding and you aren't on the verge on being sick." Voldemort smiled warmly at her and shrugged. "I'll be patient."

"I am going to kill for you," Bellatrix said very seriously. Her words were still slurring, she knew, but her message came through. "I am going to torture for you. Kill for you."

"Yes. You are." Voldemort shut his eyes and looked terribly pained. "Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, Master," Bellatrix said, and she watched him back away and Disapparate from the spot.

**Author's Note: I went surfing today! Haha! Having lots of fun in Hawai'i and writing when I can - thanks so much for your patience and for reading and reviewing.**


	6. Vampires

Lord Voldemort paced in his office, a glass of ice water in his hand. It was cooled in here, but the morning outside was shaping up to be hot. Indeed, the voice on the Wizarding Wireless was discussing the weather.

"_Some of the hottest days of any summer in memory are in store for England and Wales over the next two weeks. Be sure to use Cooling Charms and stay hydrated."_

Voldemort sipped his water and then set the glass down on his desk when he heard the sound of knocking on his office door. Surely Bellatrix wasn't up and ready yet, after her night of drunkenness? He cleared his throat and reached out with his mind, sensing Abraxas Malfoy. He called for Abraxas to enter, and when the blond-haired wizard did, his face was serious.

"Sir," said Abraxas gravely, "One of my portraits reported something strange to me this morning."

"One of your… your portraits?" Voldemort's stomach sank. He gulped. Abraxas nodded.

"My portrait of Lyria Androdia upstairs told me that she saw Bellatrix Black walking through the corridors at midnight last night, and that she knocked on your quarters before entering them."

Voldemort's mouth fell open. He contemplated, for a brief moment, Obliviating Abraxas and making this whole problem disappear. He could destroy the portrait. But then he remembered that he was a guest in this manor, and that if he angered his host, he might find himself homeless. So he decided to tell the truth, or something near it.

"Bellatrix broke the rules last night," he said. "She took a bottle of wine from her parents' cupboard and got drunk. She came here in her drunken state in search of teachings. She wanted to learn about vampires."

"Vampires." Abraxas narrowed his eyes. "In the middle of the night."

"I Disapparated - took her back to her parents' home immediately," Voldemort said. "She's due here any time for lessons and for a stern talking-to. She knows she's in deep trouble. I do apologise for her entering the manor at such a late hour uninvited."

"It's no trouble." Abraxas didn't sound so certain. "So Cygnus and Druella know all about this, then?"

"Erm… no." Voldemort shook his head. "And I'd prefer to keep it that way. Bellatrix is my student, Abraxas, and her tutelage is important to me. Her membership in the movement is critical. I can't have her parents pulling her out of my lessons because she made a few poor choices."

"I understand, sir," Abraxas nodded. There was more knocking on the door then, and Voldemort smirked. He wandlessly opened the door and called,

"Bella, do come in; we were just talking about you."

Bellatrix came walking in slowly, wearing a scandalously short black dress. Abraxas Malfoy looked her up and down, and Bellatrix said cautiously,

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy."

"I was just about to explain to Abraxas that you will _never_ enter his home uninvited again, least of all at midnight, and that you would not dream of coming to my quarters unannounced in the middle of the night in his home." Voldemort gave Bellatrix a hard, stern look, and Bellatrix's cheeks instantly went scarlet. She flicked her eyes between Voldemort and Abraxas Malfoy, and she finally whispered,

"No, never, Mr Malfoy. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right; I hear there was quite a lot of stolen wine involved," Abraxas said, cocking up a pale brow. "Temper your drinking, Miss Black, and you'll find your decisions are much more sound."

"I'll take that advice to heart," she promised. She turned to Voldemort and asked, "Shall I wait outside?"

"No. Abraxas was just going, unless there was something else?" Voldemort tipped his head expectantly at Abraxas Malfoy, who bowed just a little and murmured,

"There's nothing else at all, sir. A fine day to you both." Abraxas turned and walked right out of the office, and as soon as the door shut, Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and asked Bellatrix,

"How's your head?"

"I'm fine, Master," she mumbled, dragging her fingers through her hair. "I'm so sorry that he found out that I came."

"Hmm. Yes. I was rather hoping that he would not know, but there it is." Voldemort shoved a hand through the air, gesturing to one of the armchairs before the bare fireplace. Bellatrix sat on command, and Voldemort paced slowly behind her. He sniffed and began,

"Baktu was one of the first Romanian vampires that I met in my travels. He was certainly the most interesting. You see, Baktu was like an inventor of sorts. A seeker of truth. He wanted to know all the uses and purposes of human blood - in potions, in curse work. So aside from merely drinking the blood of his victims, he utilised it alongside his lover, a witch called Nadia, to try and discover new serums, new poisons."

"And did he?" Bellatrix asked, sounding interested. "Did he discover new things?"

"When I met him, he'd recently uncovered the use of human blood in a type of healing serum, but he had not yet widely shared the results. Nothing ever came of that serum that I know of. Why he kept his findings to himself, I do not fully understand," Voldemort said. "Baktu is over four hundred years old, but Nadia was much, much younger. Perhaps he wanted to protect his quiet life in the forest with her. I do not know."

Bellatrix was quiet then. Voldemort stared down at her, walking around to the front of her chair.

"Would you like to learn about the vampire called Caraquena? The vampire from Venezuela?"

Bellatrix blinked a few times and then shut her eyes. "Yes, Master. Of course."

Voldemort's stomach stirred. He got the impression that Bellatrix did not, in fact, want to hear anything more about vampires. But he cleared his throat and told her,

"Caraquena was a vampire who lived in the forests of Venezuela for over seven hundred years. She was well-known to the native Muggles there; they crafted lore around her and some considered her a goddess. She feasted upon them, and some offered up humans to her as sacrifices to protect the villages from being utterly savaged. Caraquena never went hungry, not in seven hundred years. But then the Spanish Muggles arrived, and she foolishly began taking them for her feasts. They murdered her with their weapons of steel and lead. It wouldn't have killed her, except that a musket ball went straight through her heart, and she died. After seven hundred years."

Bellatrix was silent. Voldemort folded his hands before him and gnawed his lip.

"Have you nothing to say about your lesson today?"

"It's all very interesting," she insisted finally, "all of it. Vampires fascinate me, Master."

"Something else is plainly on your mind," Voldemort pointed out, and Bellatrix raised her eyes to his. She finally whispered,

"No one is watching you."

He felt cold then. He shook his head and said quietly, "I've no idea what you mean."

Bellatrix rose from her chair and put her hands onto Voldemort's chest. She leaned forward a little and touched her forehead to his sternum. She murmured against his robes,

"Damn the law. Nobody is watching what you do to me in this office, Master."

"It is not right, Bella," he insisted, though he found himself with his fingers creeping up the inside of her thigh. He kissed the top of her forehead and said, "I ought to keep my hands entirely off of you until your birthday."

"I shall be gone on my birthday," she reminded him, "and for three months thereafter."

Voldemort growled a little, feeling frustrated and knowing how right she was. Nobody was watching them. He reached out an arm, extending it toward the door, and wandlessly, nonverbally cast a _Colloportus_ charm to lock it.

Then he moved quickly.

He backed Bellatrix up toward the wall, and when she hit it, she gasped. He bent down to swallow the gasp in a kiss, burrowing his mouth against hers as their lips locked together and their tongues scraped the insides of one another's mouths. He threaded the fingers of his left hand up into Bellatrix's wild curls and used his right hand to stroke the inside of her thigh, feeling her shudder as he did. She moaned against his mouth when his fingers crept northward, toward the crotch of her knickers, and his heart started to race until he was certain it would thump right out of his chest.

She was boldly reaching into his robes, stroking him through his trousers, and he was going hard at her touch. He didn't mind her brazen move this time; he let her manipulate his cock through the fabric as he kissed her again. He pushed aside the crotch of her knickers and felt a damp flush between her thighs, felt silky folds welcome him. He ripped his mouth from hers and grunted, his cock twitching beneath Bellatrix's hand.

"Bella." He moved his mouth to her neck, to the soft and thin skin there, and he lapped and suckled beneath her ear as his fingers stroked and pushed at her entrance. Over and over, back and forth he moved on her, twiddling his thumb around her clit with just enough pressure to make her pant. She grabbed at his head as he kissed her neck, holding on for purchase whilst his tongue and his fingers moved all around her body. Her hand faltered on his cock, and she let out a high-pitched whine. Voldemort knew she was getting close to her peak, to feeling pleasure detonate within her. Somehow, the thought of that - of her finding release - made him so hard he almost came right then and there. He buried his face into her neck and bit, knowing he'd leave a mark and figuring he could fix it with magic. He bit again, pressing his fingers down, and she was lost.

He groaned at the feel of her walls clenching around his fingertips. He shut his eyes at the sound of her breath hitching, coming fast and shallow and uneven. Her skin went hot beneath his mouth, and he finally pulled away as he sensed that she was coming down from her high.

She was so ridiculously beautiful when he did pull back that he could scarcely breathe. Her lips were parted and full, her eyes were hooded and heavy. Her neck was bruised and shining, and her little chest was heaving quickly. She kept moving her hand on his cock then, squeezing and stroking him, and Voldemort realised he was seconds away from spilling himself in his trousers. He ripped her hand off of him and whispered,

"Not me, Bella."

"Why not?" she demanded. "You gave me pleasure; let me give it to you."

"It's quite an unnecessary mess," he insisted, though in reality it just seemed awkward to come in his trousers. He could finish himself off later to thoughts of her. He put a hand on either side of her on the wall and stared down, and he murmured,

"You are the most beautiful grown-up witch there ever was, I think."

She grinned and shook her head. "You are teasing me, Master."

"I am not." He reached to tuck her hair behind her ear and bent to touch his lips to the spot he'd bruised up. "Let me fix this for you."

"Leave it," she insisted. "Leave your marks on me. I want to be marked by you."

He pulled back and stared down into her eyes. "Why?"

"Because," she said seriously, "I am yours. You are my master, and I am your servant, and I quite like the idea of being marked up by you."

"People will see it and wonder who kissed you so roughly." Voldemort threw up an eyebrow.  
"Let them wonder," Bellatrix said nonchalantly. "I wish you'd marked me more."

Voldemort scoffed. "Perhaps next time."

"Next time." Bellatrix tipped up her chin, reaching up to stroke at Voldemort's jaw. "Next time, and the time after that, and the time after that…"

"Every time." Voldemort nodded and kissed her forehead gently. "Now. Come sit down. I'm not finished teaching you about vampires."

**Author's Note: Tomorrow night into the next day, I travel home, so it may be a few days before I update. Thanks for your patience.**


	7. Interrupting

It was too damned hot for the Macmillan Family Summer Party. And, yet, here Bellatrix was, getting ready for the event. She put on a loose-fitting black dress that reached her knees, in a lightweight cotton material, and she piled her hair atop her head in a messy bun. She put on a chunky silver necklace and slid on some lace-up sandals. When she went downstairs, her mother scolded her,

"You look like you're going to mop the floors of Macmillan House, Bellatrix."

"The invitation specifically said to come dressed casually," Bellatrix noted. She glanced over at Narcissa, who was wearing a flouncy silvery dress, and her sister Andromeda, who was in mint green silk. She scowled. "You two are _not_ casual."

"Well, we wanted to look nice," Andromeda spat, putting her hands on her hips. "You look rather sloppy, if I'm honest."

"Fine!" Bellatrix huffed. "I'll change."

Ten minutes later, she was in a black silk dress with little ruffles round the hem. It was sleeveless with a deep V neck - entirely too girly for Bellatrix's taste, but more fitting to the apparent dress code. She went back downstairs and heard her mother say,

"Ah. Much better."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and followed her family into the Floo fireplace. One by one, they headed to Macmillan House for the summer party. When they came stumbling out of the green licking flames, they were in an elegant parlour, but of course the party was outside. Bellatrix followed her parents and sisters out through the foyer and front door, into the vibrant sunlight and blazing heat of the summer day. Yes, Bellatrix thought. It was entirely too hot for this party.

She snatched a Gillywater with mint off the tray of a passing House-Elf, and she sipped at it as she and her sisters padded onto the grass. Her father greeted Mr Macmillan, thanking him warmly for the invitation. The wizards must be absolutely dying in their long robes, Bellatrix thought. Right on cue, one of them walked up to her - Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Hullo, Rodolphus." Bellatrix flashed him a small smile, and he grinned broadly back down at her. He was drinking a firewhisky on the rocks, for he was already seventeen. Was he handsome? Bellatrix couldn't decide. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to marry him. She flinched when he put his hand between her shoulder blades and bent down to kiss her forehead.

"Rodolphus!" Bellatrix exclaimed, shocked by the move. Rodolphus shrugged and gave her a playful smile.

"Couldn't help myself," he claimed. "Not when you look that pretty."

Bellatrix shuddered, uncomfortable for some reason. She didn't like him touching her, talking to her like this. To make matters worse, there was a dance floor where summer party revelers were starting to gather, and Rodolphus dared to lace his fingers through Bellatrix's.

"Dance with your future husband," he said, and it only sort of sounded like a suggestion. Bellatrix let Rodolphus drag her out to the dance floor, and she quickly swigged down the rest of her minty Gillywater. She was almost to the dance floor with Rodolphus when he took a sudden detour, pulling her away from the dance floor and around the white tent where the food and drinks were. Bellatrix gasped in surprise as Rodolphus yanked her around the outside of the tent.

"Rodolphus, what are we… _ahh!_" Bellatrix dropped her empty Gillywater glass onto the grass as Rodolphus wrapped an arm around her. She was pulled against his body tightly, and she gulped as his hand pressed to her lower back. "Rodolphus, stop."

"Bellatrix." Rodolphus was suddenly lowered, his lips too near hers, his breath mingling with the hot air against Bellatrix's cheek. He murmured, "We're to be married, you and I."

"Not yet," Bellatrix said through clenched teeth. "Not any time soon."

"Bellatrix, don't you want to touch me? To let me touch you?" Rodolphus asked. "We're to be husband and wife, you and I."

"Oh, pardon the interruption," said a voice, and Bellatrix had never in her life been so relieved to hear the sound of Lord Voldemort speaking. Rodolphus pulled back, stumbling away a few steps, and Bellatrix stared with hot cheeks at Voldemort where he stood with an icy drink in his hand. He sipped it and said rather nonchalantly, "Bella, I was just looking for you in search of a dance. I'm sorry if I was interrupting… something."

"You actually arrived just in the nick of time," Bellatrix said hotly. "Rodolphus rather forgot himself, sir. About that dance?"

She walked past her dropped Gillywater glass and stomped toward Voldemort, slithering up alongside him and moving out past the tent with him without looking back. As they neared the dance floor, Voldemort muttered,

"I sensed distress in your mind. What was he doing to you?"

"He meant to kiss and touch me," Bellatrix lamented, "because we are to be married. He is labouring under the delusion that our engagement gives him permission to treat me lecherously."

"You are sending him mixed signals." Voldemort pulled Bellatrix into a rather tight dancing stance and gave her a scolding look. "You've agreed to marry him, but you want nothing to do with him."

Bellatrix began to sway to the music. "What am I meant to do when we go back to school? He's going to tell everyone that I am his. He's going to tell everyone that I belong to him."

"You do," Voldemort reminded her, "according to the contract your fathers signed."

"Damn the contract!" Bellatrix stamped her foot, and Voldemort leaned down and whispered,

"You're acting like a child."

"Am I? Is it easier for you when I do?" Bellatrix was being cruel now, she thought, but she couldn't help herself. He pulled back and frowned at her, and she shrugged. "Ought I to have worn my hair in pigtails to make you think I'm just a little girl and not a grown woman to be touched by her future husband?"

"You're not making any sense, Bella," Voldemort announced, and Bellatrix scoffed rather loudly.

"None of it makes sense," she hissed. "You have been my teacher since I was small, and now I _want_ you, and I know you want me back. But I am to be married, and I despise him, and I do not want him. I am leaving for school soon, and I'll be left with memories of kisses in your office, of being backed up against a wall by you, and I -"

"Bella. Stop." Voldemort shut his eyes and shook his head. He kept dancing with Bellatrix, and finally he opened his eyes. "Don't marry him."

"I do not intend on it," Bellatrix informed him. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and amended,

"Don't even say you'll marry him. Don't go along with the contract. Break the contract."

She faltered in her dancing steps. Her voice was soft as she noted, "It'll cause all kinds of discord. My father will loathe me."

"Not if you have someone else waiting in the wings, ready to sweep you up," Voldemort curled up the corners of his lips. "Someone who's waited for you to grow up, someone who wants you as a soldier, as a… as a…"

"As a wife?" Bellatrix breathed, her heart thumping. Suddenly she could hardly stand, much less dance. Voldemort kept them moving, and he insisted,

"It may destroy my movement, taking you as a wife. It may destroy me to do it. I'm not sure why I'm suggesting it. But it seems like the only logical thing to do right now, somehow."

"Logical," Bellatrix repeated. She chomped her lip and shook in Voldemort's arms. "You're being logical. Are you?"

"No." He choked a little laugh. "Not at all, actually. I'm not being rational or logical; I'm acting foolishly and out of emotion. But how am I meant to see that boy's arms around you, Bella, and do nothing about it?"

"You could just talk to my father and convince him to call off the engagement," Bellatrix argued. "You could just tell him that you need me in your movement and that I'll be too busy to be married."  
"I could." Voldemort nodded. "But it isn't just that I don't want to see Rodolphus Lestrange's arms around you, Bella. It's that I want my arms around you. I want… I… you'll be seventeen very soon; we could marry at Christmastime at the Ministry."

"I could leave school," Bellatrix suggested brazenly, "and finish my studies under you instead."

"Now you're talking nonsense," Voldemort laughed. He shook his head and bent down until his lips brushed against Bellatrix's. "You'll torture for me. You'll kill for me. And when the battles are finished, you'll come to my bed. Hmm?"

"Ohh." Bellatrix actually moaned then, _moaned_ up onto his mouth, and as he pulled back, she whispered, "That sounds nice."

"Let me talk to your father," Voldemort suggested. "I'll tell him that you're dreading the match with Rodolphus, that you and I are a much more favourable pairing, and that I will take fine care of you."

"And will you?" Bellatrix asked. "Will you take fine care of me, Master?"

"As much as anyone can take care of Bellatrix Black," he nodded with a smirk. "She rather takes care of herself. I suggested going to the Ministry at Christmas. Did you want something bigger?"

"No. No. I do not want anything public. At all. That Debutante Ball was a horror show," Bellatrix scoffed, "and the only time I care to wear a white ball gown, thank you."

Voldemort curled up half his mouth. "If you marry the Lestrange boy, they'll doll you up in white lace again and parade you down an aisle in front of every single Pureblood in existence."

"I know." Bellatrix kept dancing. It was so hot, she thought. So bloody hot out here. "You're going to teach me Occlumency."

"You're going to do so much," he predicted. He studied her face. "You are going to be something wonderful and terrible, Bellatrix, and I could not stand to miss a single moment of it. I must witness you in your glory."

"Teacher," she hummed, leaning closer to him. "Master. Husband. I like them all on you."

"Let me talk to your father," he said again. "I will convince him. Go get yourself some more mint and Gillywater. Your cheeks are red as lobsters. Hot as Hades out here."

With that, he pulled away, and Bellatrix was left standing on the dance floor as he moved with brisk strides in the direction of where her father and mother stood talking to her grandparents.

**Author's Note: I'm home from Hawai'i now and can update more regularly now. Thanks for your patience.**


	8. Rings

"So." Druella Black dusted off the skirts of her sundress and sat slowly on the divan in her own parlour. Bellatrix sank down opposite her parents and waited for the hammer to fall. Druella looked from Cygnus to Bellatrix and shrugged. "I simply don't understand all this. Bellatrix wanted out from her engagement to Rodolphus and you said _yes_, Cygnus?"

"It wasn't as simple as that," hissed Cygnus. "Bellatrix wanted nothing to do with Rodolphus; meanwhile, both she and Tom Riddle… Lord… _him_… they wanted one another."

"He actually does want you as his bride?" Druella sounded legitimately shocked. She stared at Bellatrix and shook her head. "He went to school with your father and I. He's, what, twenty-five years older than you? He's been teaching you since you were a child. Feels a bit off, doesn't it?"

"I promise you that it does not feel off, Mum," Bellatrix vowed. "It feels quite right. I assure you."

That might have been too much information, she realised immediately from the look on her father's face. She winced and amended,

"What I mean is, things have changed between him and me. I'm not the twelve-year-old girl who begged him for lessons anymore."

"No, but you're not yet seventeen, either," Cygnus pointed out. "He can't marry you yet. Nobody can marry you yet."

"He can marry me in September," Bellatrix said hopefully. Then her spirits sank, for she remembered the way she'd have to go back to school in less than a month's time, and she shut her eyes as she corrected herself, "Christmastime. He can marry me at Christmastime."

"And he'll just wait all that while?" Druella asked in disbelief. "Whilst you piddle away at Hogwarts for your sixth and seventh years, he's just going to wait for you?"

"I suppose he is," Bellatrix nodded. "That was the impression I was given."

Cygnus cleared his throat. "His exact words were, _I have waited for her to grow up, Cygnus; I can wait for holidays to see her._"

"My." Druella raised her brows. "He certainly does seem fond of you."

"And I of him," Bellatrix nodded. "He and I were made for one another, I think. Daddy, how did Rodolphus take the news?"

"I spoke only briefly with his father," Cygnus said in an awkward tone, "and I told him that the engagement was off owing to your dissatisfaction with the match and your desire to marry someone else. He shook my hand and wished you well. Good man, Lestrange."

"Well, that's good, at least." Bellatrix frowned as she thought about returning to school and facing Rodolphus Lestrange, who would probably act (mistakenly) like a scorned lover. She sighed and said to her parents,

"I want to go see him. The Dark Lord."

"Is that what you call him these days?" Druella sounded surprised, but Bellatrix shot her a weighty look and insisted,

"Soon enough no one will dare speak his name, Mum. Everyone with half a brain will call him _Master._"

"He's got you round his little finger, hasn't he?" Druella narrowed her eyes at her daughter and nodded. "Go to him, then. He's probably already back at Malfoy Manor from the party. I saw him leave before we did."

"Right. See you, then." Bellatrix rose from her seat and started to make her way to the Floo fireplace. She paused and turned to face her parents. "Daddy? I really am sorry to put you in the position of having to break everything off with the Lestranges. I know it must have been awkward for you. But I promise you this will work out better for everybody in the end."

With that, she took a fistful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace, exclaiming,

"_Malfoy Manor!_"

She pinched and whirled through the licking cool green flames, and when she was spit out of the fireplace in Malfoy Manor, she stumbled forward and cried,

"It's just me, Mr and Mrs Malfoy! Bellatrix Black!"

There was no answer, but Bellatrix always announced her arrival. She wondered briefly if Voldemort would be in his office, but she reckoned he would have no good reason to be on the evening of the Macmillan summer party. No. He would be in his quarters.

Bellatrix was forbidden from sneaking up to his rooms, but she did it anyway. She crept through the corridors and flashed an angry look at the portrait who had ratted her out to Abraxas Malfoy the last time she'd come. The portrait giggled a bit maliciously, and Bellatrix shook her head as she walked by. She stalked up to Voldemort's door and knocked a few times.

There was no answer. Panicking, Bellatrix knocked again. Nothing.

"He's in there," said the portrait from behind Bellatrix. "I saw him go in."

Bellatrix whirled around and glared at the portrait. She knocked again, and when she got no reply, she turned to leave. She would just go back to her parents' house, she thought. But then she heard the door creak open, and Voldemort's voice said from behind her,

"Bella?"

She turned so quickly that she nearly fell, and then she almost fell again when she saw Lord Voldemort standing before her, damp and shirtless with a black towel wrapped around his narrow waist. Her mouth fell open, and eyebrows flew up, and she whispered,

"Master."

"I'm sorry; I didn't hear you. I was in the shower. I felt the presence of your mind in the corridor and rinsed off as quickly as I could," Voldemort explained. "Come inside and I'll get dressed."

_No, don't do that,_ Bellatrix thought, and he quirked up half his mouth. He jerked his head to beckon her into his quarters, and Bellatrix's throat went dry as she followed him inside. He shut the door behind her, and he murmured,

"I'll just be a moment."

"I wish you wouldn't," Bellatrix whined, but Voldemort scoffed and hovered over her, tucking her hair behind her ear as he told her,

"It's a dangerous thing, a wizard standing with the witch he wants, with such scant material between them. Hm?"

"You want me?" Bellatrix covered his hand with hers, and suddenly she was being pushed toward the divan. Voldemort lowered his face toward hers and whispered,

"Yes. I want you. And I'm going to make you mine, aren't I?"

"Master… _oof!_" Bellatrix fell rather ungracefully onto the divan and let him just _be_ above her, so much larger in every dimension. He bent and kissed her hard, and Bellatrix reached on instinct for his towel. She flicked at it and shoved it away, and then suddenly he was naked on top of her, and they both gasped.

Bellatrix wrapped her fingers around the shaft of his cock and stared down at it, at its purplish throbbing tip, the thatch of hair at the base, the thick long part in the middle. She looked up at Voldemort's eyes and hummed,

"I want to make you come."

He choked a sound and assured her, "That won't take long. But I don't suppose that it's something you ought to do."

"Why not?" Bellatrix tipped her head petulantly.

"Because you are you and I am me and there are years and years between us in all the wrong ways, and… oh, _oh_, Bella…" Voldemort hissed loudly and tossed his head back as Bellatrix dragged her thumb back and forth over the slit in the tip of his cock. She felt a dewy, damp heat spreading under her thumb, and the velvet on stone beneath her fingers was getting harder and longer. She stroked at him and played with a spot beneath his tip that made him squeeze his eyes shut when she touched it. With her other hand, she reached down between them and fondled the twin orbs that hung between his thighs, being extra careful with them as they seemed terribly sensitive. The two-handed approach seemed to drive Voldemort mad with desire, and he bent down and kissed Bellatrix as hard as he seemed able. She was bleeding today, but she was still flush with want for him.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort mumbled onto her lips, "It's going to make a big mess in a moment. Let me go finish -"

"Make a mess on me," Bellatrix begged him. "You know Scouring and Siphoning spells; make a mess on me."

"Bella." Voldemort shut his eyes, and his lips trembled against Bellatrix's. His cock jolted in Bellatrix's hand, and suddenly there were creamy white jets of fluid leaping onto the belly of her black silk dress. She felt the wet heat of the come through the silk on her skin, and she shivered, her eyelids fluttering shut.

The next few minutes were a blur. He Siphoned and Scoured the mess he'd made on her dress. He climbed off of her and asked if she wanted him to reciprocate. She nervously explained that the timing was bad for that. He picked up his towel and went into his bedroom, and Bellatrix lay on the divan and stared at the ceiling, amazed at what she and Voldemort had done together. What she had done to him. What he had let her do to him.

Eventually, he came back into the sitting room in a loose tunic and linen trousers, and Bellatrix slowly sat up on the divan. He sank down beside her, dragging his fingers through his thinning, greying hair, and he murmured,

"Surely understand why I did not think that was an appropriate thing to happen."

"Well, it's happened, and I am not sorry, Master." Bellatrix smiled a little weakly at him, and he smirked back with a shrug.

"I am not sorry, either, as it happens," he said. "Eventually, I will answer to absolutely no one. I may as well start now."

Bellatrix grinned. "I answer to you, just like everyone else will."

Voldemort's teeth sank into his bottom lip, and he took a deep breath. "Tell me more."

Bellatrix reached to stroke Voldemort's jaw, and she said,

"All of us will live in fear of your anger, thirsting for your approval. Your message will be the word upon which we lay our lives. And we will fight and kill and torture, all in your name, all for you, for your cause, for the advancement of your movement. For you."

"Bella." Voldemort's chest rose and fell rather quickly, and he reached up to thread his fingers into Bellatrix's hair. He leaned near her and kissed her cheek, and he whispered, "It could never be anyone but you, you understand. It could very well be nobody, but if it's to be someone, then it must be you."

He pulled back, and Bellatrix sniffled, suddenly overcome with emotion. She remembered what her mother had asked disbelievingly at the Black family home, and she said to Voldemort,

"What will you do when I am at school for so long?"

"I will wait for you," he said confidently. "I have lived many, many years without a witch. Now I shall have a witch - a brilliant, beautiful, loyal, terrifying, most wonderful witch - and I shall wait for her."

His thumb brushed away the tear that tumbled down Bellatrix's cheek then, and she shut her eyes. She heard his voice say then,

"You must have a ring. Something to mark you as mine when you go back to school."

_An engagement ring, _Bellatrix thought. She held out her left hand and stared at it, and then Voldemort took the hand and dragged his thumb over her fourth finger. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at her hand, and he began murmuring spells that Bellatrix could not begin to comprehend. She stared at his face, at his concentration and focus, and then back down at her hand. All of a sudden, a black metal back began to wind its way around Bellatrix's ring finger. Through the centre of the black band was a line of shiny silvery metal, and at the very top was a round diamond inlaid in the metal. Bellatrix gasped and held up her hand.

It was a shocking sort of ring, aggressive and angry-looking and yet awfully beautiful. She turned her hand and examined the ring, and then she shot Voldemort a wide-eyed expression.

"How did you do that, Master?" she demanded, and he gave her a cocky smirk as he twirled his wand.

"Ask any professor at Hogwarts who's the best Conjurer the school's ever seen," he taunted her, and she scoffed.

"This is extraordinary. This is… it's absolutely beautiful. I don't understand how you can do magic like this. How can you be this powerful?"

She raised her eyes to him, and he licked his bottom lip as he asked carefully,

"But you like it?"

"Yes, of course I adore it! Thank you! Thank you." Bellatrix realised she'd been so busy marveling that she hadn't been appropriately grateful. She tossed her arms round Voldemort's shoulders and kissed him square on the lips. That kiss turned into something much deeper, and soon enough Bellatrix was gasping for air as she broke the intense bond between them.

"Please don't make me leave," she begged him. "Please don't send me away right now."

"No." He petted her hair and brushed his lips over her cheekbone. "Stay for dinner. I'll have the House-Elf put out one more table setting. Abraxas already knows you'll be living here come December."

"And does he mind?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort shook his head and dragged his thumb over her lip.

"It is as you say," he told her. "Soon everyone will bend to me. Abraxas Malfoy already does."

"Good man," said Bellatrix, and she leaned in for another kiss.

**Author's Note: Woo-hoo! Things are getting serious! Thanks for reading and a huge ****thanks** **for reviewing.**


	9. School

Somehow, before Bellatrix knew it, it was the first of September. She rose early in the morning, having spent the previous evening with Lord Voldemort. They had dined together and had touched one another to completion. And then they'd said goodbye, in a manner that had made Bellatrix cry outright like a little fool.

Now, this morning, she struggled to pack up all of her school things into her trunk and to pull on the pieces of her Slytherin uniform. One bit at a time, she transformed herself back into the Hogwarts student she really was. She stared at the black metal ring round her fourth left finger, the ring binding her to Lord Voldemort, and she remembered what he'd told her the night before.

_Albus Dumbledore will be incredibly suspicious of you. Interested in you. He'll be watching you carefully now. Do not give him any fodder. Watch him back._

Bellatrix pulled on her tie and began to knot it, wondering what she would wear at Christmastime to the Ministry to marry Lord Voldemort. A plain black dress, probably. Nothing too fancy. She just wanted to marry him. She would move from her parents' home to Malfoy Manor. And then she would sleep with him at night - at least on school holidays. Somehow, they'd managed to make it to the first of September with only kissing and touching. No sex. That had involved a great deal of self-control on Voldemort's part, Bellatrix thought, for she had given him every indication that she was amenable to making love before she left for school. But he'd insisted that they would wait until she was of age, for _his own conscience, if nothing else,_ as he'd said. She'd teased him about having a conscience at all, and he'd kissed her again.

Now Bellatrix screamed for the House-Elf to come haul her trunk downstairs, and she padded down the staircase to find Andromeda and Narcissa in the breakfast nook, already in their own Slytherin robes. Bellatrix sat morosely at the breakfast table, sliding into a chair, and spooned a bit of porridge into her mouth.

"Sorry to leave your precious fiancée, are you?" teased Andromeda, and Narcissa immediately swatted her elder sister's shoulder.

"Don't taunt her! It must be terribly difficult to leave him," Narcissa reasoned.

"Why?" Andromeda sipped her orange juice and scoffed. "He's an old man."

"Andy!" Narcissa hissed, but Bellatrix just shook her head and said,

"It's all right, Cissy. Andy's just jealous. Don't you remember last term how she had such a massive crush on Bishop Pearce, that Half-Blood Gryffindor boy? Bishop didn't seem too fond of our dear Andromeda. What was it he told you to do, Andy? Ah, yes… _eat rocks._"

"You shut up." Andromeda narrowed her eyes. "Marrying a man Mum and Dad's age. What's the matter with you?"

"You won't be asking that in five years' time," Bellatrix asserted. "You'll be bowing down to him, just like everyone else."

"Ha! Not likely!" Andromeda spat. Narcissa looked flustered, and suddenly Druella Black walked into the nook and exclaimed,

"Girls! What the blazes is going on here? Are you bickering?"

"No," Andromeda lied. "Bellatrix was just mocking me about Bishop Pearce, that's all."

"Well. Bishop Pearce was just a silly fancy of yours, wasn't he?" Druella said, stepping into the nook and putting her hands on Narcissa's shoulders. "That Half-Blood Gryffindor boy. Not exactly your cup of tea."

"He seemed to be precisely Andy's cup of tea last term," Bellatrix murmured, and Andromeda shot back,

"And apparently your cup of tea consists of greying old men."

"Oh, stop it, the both of you!" Narcissa seemed genuinely distressed, pounding her fist on the table and sending her tea spilling over the rim of her cup. She huffed a breath and cried out, "I shan't have our last morning at home consist of my sisters fighting. I simply shall not."

"Right, well. It's nearly time to go to King's Cross, anyway," said Druella, pinching her lips.

At the train station, Bellatrix pushed her trolley with her trunk on it and felt a pit of dread in her stomach. She'd said her goodbye to Voldemort the night before, but she felt a horrid, awful sense of discontent now in approaching the train. She watched as her father, then Andromeda and Narcissa, went through the barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10. She finally pushed her own trolley through, hearing the high scream of the Hogwarts Express whistle. She moved out of the way as her mother came through the barrier, and then she froze.

He was there. He'd come.

Standing further down the platform, wearing lightweight black robes and looking for all the world like the most handsome man who had ever lived, was Lord Voldemort. He had his hands folded before him, and as people passed by, he nodded his acknowledgement. A few people - Gryffindors and Mudbloods, mostly - gave him looks of horror or fear as they went by, but he paid them no heed. Finally he raised his eyes to Bellatrix, and he smiled just a little. Bellatrix's breath hitched in her throat, and she exclaimed,

"Daddy, will you see to it that my trunk gets on the train? I've got someone to see!"

"What? Oh!" Cygnus Black took the trolley that Bellatrix shoved at him, and she heard him promise to get her trunk aboard as she dashed away from her parents. She picked up speed as she approached Voldemort, and when she finally reached him, she brazenly and shamelessly threw her arms round his shoulders. He wrapped her up and whispered into her ear,

"I couldn't help coming."

"No?" Bellatrix looked up at him, feeling her eyes well. "We said goodbye last night, you and I."

"I couldn't help coming," he said again. He tucked her hair behind her ear and murmured, "You'll do all sorts of learning this term at school. So much more learning than you ever got from me."

"Nonsense, Master." Bellatrix touched at his chest and hummed, "I've learnt more from you than I could ever learn from Slughorn and all the rest. Divination. Pah! I want to learn Occlumency. And as for Potions at school… I know how to make Dittany and healing potions; now teach me more poisons. What use have I for the ability to Transfigure paint into fabric? I want to learn how to -"

"Yes, I get the idea. You're ready to move beyond the confines of a Hogwarts education. But you've still got two years before I can make you wholly mine in the ways I mean to do. I'll start this Christmastime, but… for the rest, I must wait."

"Why?" Bellatrix gave him a desperate look. "Don't make me on the train. Don't make me go back to school, Master. Let me study with you. Let me be your soldier. Properly. Let me yours. You can teach me so much more than they ever could, and you know it."

"Bella. Don't make this any harder than it already is." Voldemort sighed and brought her knuckles up to his lips. The train's whistle sounded, warning students that the train was leaving momentarily. Bellatrix frantically glanced over her shoulder to see Andromeda and Narcissa embracing their parents. She turned back to Voldemort and begged him again,

"Please don't send me back to school, Master."

"Bellatrix, you will go and you will earn good marks, and you will come home in December and marry me. That's the end of it. Now go say goodbye to your mother and father and get on the train."

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Bella." He bent and brushed his lips against hers, pressing them once and then saying softly, "You know I care for you more than anything, don't you?"

"Mmm-hmm." She kissed him back and whispered, "I adore you."

"Go," he told her again. "Be well."

"Write to me?" she beseeched him as she pulled herself away, and he promised her,

"All the time."

Bellatrix bid her mother and father a quick farewell and then heaved herself up onto the train. She was still on the stairs of a carriage as the train pulled out of the station, and she watched Voldemort raise his hand as the parents on the platform waved desperately to their children. Bellatrix blew Voldemort a kiss, and he smiled at her. Finally, they left the station behind, and the wind of the outside air whipped at Bellatrix where she stood in the entrance to the carriage. She went inside the train at last and decided to impose herself on a compartment. It wasn't as if she had much choice; she didn't have friends.

There appeared to be a debutante compartment of sorts; Posie Parkinson, Aurora Rowle, and Margot Crabbe were all seated together talking. They were seventh-years, but Bellatrix had gotten to know them a bit better through all the preparation for the Debutante Ball this summer. She opened the compartment door and asked bravely,

"May I sit?"

"Oh. Bellatrix. Yes, of course." Posie slid over to make room, and Bellatrix plopped down on the seat. The compartment was suddenly very quiet, and Bellatrix asked,

"Everyone looking forward to term?"

"Bellatrix, is it true that you're in love with Lord Voldemort?" Aurora Rowle burst out. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and swallowed hard. In love? Was she? Yes, probably. Deeply. She licked her bottom lip carefully and said,

"I broke off my engagement with Rodolphus Lestrange because he and I were not at all a good match, for one thing, and because I already had a very strong attachment to someone else."

"To _him_," breathed Posie Parkinson. "I saw you with him just now on the platform. His hands were all over you."

"Yes, well, we are getting married," Bellatrix said in an awkward voice.

"But he's so much older," Posie complained. "If my father matched me to someone his age, I'd say no."

"We weren't matched," Bellatrix reminded Posie tersely. "We made our own decision. And, anyway, why does everyone care how old he is? Why is it so very concerning to everyone how old he is? I don't understand!"

"Sorry," Posie mumbled. She knitted her hands together in her lap, and then Margot Crabbe mercifully changed the topic.

"I got word that there might be a position for me in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, if I get a good number of NEWTs," she said. "You know my father's quite high-ranking in the department, and he's told me that his connections have assured me some sort of place if I score highly enough. So I mean to really keep to my studied this term."

Bellatrix stared out the window. She still had so very long to go before school was over for her. Sixth year, then seventh year. For what? All so she could be Voldemort's soldier. Why was he making her go back to school? Why couldn't she just study under him? She scowled deeply as the other girls talked.

Later that night, after the Welcoming Feast and the Sorting Hat ceremony and all the pomp and fanfare, Bellatrix curled up in her curtained bed. She put a fresh sheet of parchment on a book and used a self-inking quill to scratch out a letter.

_Master,_

_Here I am beginning my penultimate year of studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Only twenty-one months until I graduate this school and am your soldier forever._

_That sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? We both know that I could be spending my time far more effectively learning under you. Is it that you do not have time to teach me? Simply give me books and I will study! I will not require much of your time at all; I swear it. When I am of age, in your free time, we could practise duelling and Curses and all the things you need me to know. Occlumency, Master. I am of age in just a few weeks' time._

_Please, allow me to come to Malfoy Manor when I turn seventeen and can legally leave this place of my own volition. Please let me come to you. Please let me be yours in every way. I can not wallow here. I simply can't. Please do not make me stay._

_Write to me and tell me that you will let me come. I beg it of you._

_Your humble servant and soon to be loving wife,_

_Bellatrix_


	10. Letters

_Dear Bellatrix,_

_Don't tempt me. You know how badly I want you home with me once you've turned seventeen. Please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. You can expect a fine birthday gift sent by owl. I do hope Rodolphus Lestrange is coping well with his grief in having lost you as a wife, and that Albus Dumbledore doesn't have his claws in you. Are you already learning so very much? I know your Herbology professor will instruct you more thoroughly than I ever could. Your education is important, Bella. You know it as well as I do._

_I care very deeply for you and miss your presence already._

_L.V._

Voldemort wound the letter up into a scroll and sealed it with wax. He pressed his ring into the wax and blew on it, and he barked loudly,

"Dobby!"

The Malfoys' House-Elf appeared in the office, dissolving into the air. Dobby gave Voldemort a curious, expectant look. He served the Malfoys, and the Malfoys had instructed him to do Lord Voldemort's bidding. So Dobby obeyed Lord Voldemort, though not as subserviently as he did Abraxas Malfoy.

"Dobby," said Voldemort, "take this letter to the owlery and send it to Bellatrix Black at Hogwarts."

"Straight away, sir," nodded Dobby. He Summoned the letter to his hand and Disapparated with a _crack_. Voldemort chewed his lip. He rather wished now that he had not sent that letter to Bellatrix. He wished he'd sent something else - something saying she was right, that she ought to come home straight away after her birthday. But that was folly, he knew. He had a movement to build. He had things to do. He couldn't spend all of his time teaching Bellatrix what she'd be missing if she left Hogwarts. He couldn't spend all his time instructing his wife in the Dark Arts.

And yet, nothing in all the world sounded better than that. He shut his eyes and imagined her sitting in his office, learning about which plants would induce paralysis if accidentally ingested. He imagined her concentrating on Occlumency. He imagined her practising the Cruciatus Curse on a cockroach, or casting little Killing Curses on ants. He imagined her eyes shining through it all, her smile growing wide with pride as she accomplished one Dark act after another.

He could wait until Christmas holidays, he tried to tell himself. He would have a few weeks then to instruct her, and then a week at Easter, and then a few months over the summer. Then the cycle would repeat itself for another year. Somehow, it all started to stretch out interminably before Voldemort like a neverending road to be travelled, an endless path to be walked, and all he wanted was Bellatrix.

There was knocking on his door then, and he jolted to attention. He called for the wizards - Mulciber and Avery, if they were the ones he was expecting - to enter. The door creaked open, and Mulciber and Avery came striding inside. Mulciber was short and stout, having lost most of his hair over the last decade. Avery was his foil, tall and lean with a thick head of black waves. Both men nodded respectfully as Avery shut the door behind him, and Voldemort flashed them a little smile.

"Both of you have sent children back to Hogwarts," he noted. "How well I remember our days as schoolboys."

"Those were fond days, indeed, sir," Avery nodded. "Tom Riddle was a fearsome leader, even then. We were all rather in awe of you, I think."

"You all did exactly as I bid you," Voldemort pointed out. Mulciber folded his hands before him and said,

"You left us little choice."

"On the contrary," Voldemort insisted. "I gave you a very clear choice. Stick with me and carry out the deeds I asked of you, or get left behind. You two made the right choice back then. Tripping enemy Gryffindors down entire flights of stairs. Poisoning Professor Puntworth with Hairless Serum as revenge for her treatment of us. You both made a conscious choice to follow my lead, and that was the right choice. Now I give you another choice."

Mulciber shifted on his feet and looked anxiously at Avery, who licked his lip and asked,

"What sort of choice, sir?"

Voldemort smirked, drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk. "I want a Mudblood to disappear."

Avery's brows flew up, and Mulciber looked amazed. "A Mudblood?"

"Yes." Voldemort nodded and stepped closer to the men. "I want to sow some fear into the Ministry about our movement. I want a Mudblood to vanish into the ether. Will you choose to do it, Mulciber? Avery? Will you make the right choice like you did all those years ago?"

"Which Mudblood?" Avery asked, and Voldemort nibbled his lip before he said,

"Any one will do. They are countless in number now, aren't they? They've managed to infiltrate every department at the Ministry. Mulciber. You work in Magical Games and Sport. Avery. You work in International Cooperation. Between the two of you, I should think you'll be able to track down some hapless Mudblood somewhere in the Ministry and make them simply… disappear. The means are yours to sort out. Be creative."

"And if we do this, we do it for you," Avery said cautiously. Voldemort shook his head.

"You do it for all of us," he said. "In service of our great cause. You do it loyal to me, like you were all those years ago. Are you loyal to me still, Avery?"

He stared straight into Avery's dark eyes, and Avery seemed profoundly afraid. He shirked backward a little and nodded.

"I am loyal," he said. "I am."

"And you, Mulciber?" Voldemort turned his head. "Will you make the right choice?"

"I will, sir." Mulciber seemed anxious, but he nodded with vigour. "Avery and I shall see to it that a Mudblood gets eliminated. We'll get planning straight away. We were your very good friends when we were all boys. We're your friends now, too."

"Friends." Voldemort flicked up the corners of his lips. "But it is more than that, isn't it? I am to be the Dark Lord ascending, and you shall be my soldiers. Isn't that how it shall be?"

"Soldiers," Avery replied in a numb voice. His throat bobbed. "Soldiers, like in a war?"

"There will be war. Of that you can be certain," Voldemort vowed. "Will you make the right choice when the time comes to choose sides, Avery? Oh, do you know… that time is now. Choose your side. Do you stand with the Ministry and its hordes of filthy Mudbloods? Or do you stand with your old friend, Lord Voldemort?"  
Mulciber and Avery looked at one another, and then back up at Voldemort. Mulciber said quite firmly,

"We stand with you."

"We do," Avery affirmed.

Voldemort smiled with warmth then, and he put one hand on each man's shoulder. He nodded.

"I miss those glory days of our youth," he said, "but I also know what lies ahead for us - a glorious future. And you shall be a part of that future, the both of you. Go now, and begin planning. Dismissed."

Mulciber and Avery scurried out of the office, shutting the door behind them. Voldemort was left with his heart racing. Yes, he knew. There would be war. He had an army to build. But how could he possibly spend the next two years building an army that did not include Bellatrix? How could he possibly spend two years acquiring the Mulcibers and the Averys of this world without teaching her everything she needed to know, without training her properly? How could he spend the next two years waiting whilst she wasted her time in lessons like some kind of child?

She was no child.

He sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. He shut his eyes and wondered what she was doing right now. He imagined her in Potions lessons, hovering over a cauldron with a textbook beside her. She didn't have any real friends at school, she'd told him. Rodolphus Lestrange, the stupid boy, might be giving her trouble over their broken engagement. Albus Dumbledore would be watching her like a hawk. And she would be the odd one out - an engaged young woman in a sea of giggling girls. After Christmastime, she would come back to school a married witch, which would only set her further apart and enrage Dumbledore all the more. And still she would waste away in Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic when Voldemort could be teaching her Unforgivables and ways to manipulate giants.

Why was he being such a fool about this, he wondered? Why was he being so foolish about her? Why was he making her stay at school for the next two years instead of bringing her home and making her a soldier now? If he could make Mulciber and Avery soldiers, surely he could make his wife one. She was already more intelligent and fearless than either Mulciber or Avery. All she needed was some duelling training in Malfoy Manor's gardens, some more practise with poisons and curses. All she needed was a _practical_ education, instead of a theoretical one, and Voldemort could give her that. He wanted to give her that. He craved time wand-to-wand with her on a rainy lawn. He longed for late nights curled up in bed with her, lecturing her about goblins. He wanted nothing more than to see her curls fluff up from the steam in her cauldron as she brewed a Bleaching Draught to prove her potioneering prowess. And all the while she would be his wife, and she would be here. Not locked up in Dumbledore's school. Not spending her nights in a curtained bed in a dormitory, hundreds of miles away from him. She would be _here_, at Malfoy Manor, in Voldemort's arms, at his beck and call. She would be…

She would be his.

So why on Earth had he sent the letter he'd sent earlier, Voldemort wondered? What the blazes had he been thinking? He gulped hard and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. He began to write so quickly that his hand quickly ached and his script was a bit of a mess.

_Bella,_

_Ignore the last letter that I sent. I wasn't thinking clearly. I need you to come home. I will meet you at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade at noon on the twenty-first of September and bring you back here by Side-Along since you haven't got your Apparition licence yet. Levitate your trunk down to the village. If Dumbledore gives you any trouble, remind him that you'll be of age and you're free to leave the school at seventeen. _

_Your education will continue here, under my tutelage. We will marry as soon as you see fit. I shall see you on the twenty-first unless for some strange reason you decide against coming back to me._

_L.V._

**Author's Note: Oh, my. So they've got just a couple of weeks of waiting it out before she drops out of school. Next chapter will be from Bellatrix's POV at Hogwarts. Will Dumbledore find out about their plans in any way, and if so, what will he do about it? Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	11. Dumbledore

"Today, we revisit the International Warlock Convention of 1289, which we discussed in your second year," droned Professor Binns. "As I'm sure you well recall, the Sardinian contingent of wizards at the convention was particularly interested in standardising magical currency for the purposes of easing trade. It was difficult enough, they asserted, to cope with the fact that each principality and locality had its own Muggle currency, but to add on differing local wizarding currencies was too complicated. However, they faced steep opposition from the Galicians, who were quite interested in maintaining their uniquely beautiful _Aranoso_ coinage. An attempt was made by the Sardinians to standardise the lovely Galician _Aranoso_ as the universal European wizarding currency, but ultimately no progress was made on this front."

Bellatrix dragged the nib of her quill over her blank parchment. She was meant to be taking notes in History of Magic lessons, but she just couldn't bring herself to care in the slightest. Lord Voldemort had written to her to tell her that she was meant to come home on her birthday, so how could she possibly care about lessons? Professor Binns kept bleating on about the International Warlock Convention of 1289, and Bellatrix finally dipped her quill into some ink, bringing the nib to her parchment as she wrote a letter to the Headmaster who was in his first year, the wizard who was Lord Voldemort's sworn enemy.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I am writing to inform you of my withdrawal from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I shall be continuing my education elsewhere. As soon as I have turned seventeen years of age, I shall leave the school permanently. I trust there will be no impediment to my departure. I wish you and all the staff and students well in all future endeavours, and I thank you kindly for the stellar education I have been given here at Hogwarts._

_Warm regards,_

_Bellatrix Black_

"After the great argument surrounding European wizarding currency," droned Professor Binns, "Goblins across the Continent attempted to establish a bank to unify the finances of witches and wizards throughout all of Europe."

Somehow, Bellatrix made it through the rest of the lesson without falling asleep. By the time people started standing up and walking out of the classroom, she was yawning and utterly bored. Voldemort's lessons on history were so much more interesting than Binns' lectures, she thought. She walked with the masses of students out into the corridors, and she made her way toward the Great Hall for lunch.

"Bellatrix?" As she slid into the bench at the Slytherin table, a figure arranged himself on the bench opposite her. Rodolphus. Bellatrix just stared. She held a soft roll in her hands and chewed a bite, and she finally reached for a goblet of water to wash it down.

"I just wanted to ask you about your wedding," Rodolphus said, and Bellatrix cleared her throat.

"What about my wedding?"

Rodolphus pinched his lips and folded his hands on the table. "I would have given you a nice, big wedding. A beautiful white gown, with you marching down the aisle to me."

"Yes, I know," Bellatrix nodded. "I'm aware that that's what our wedding would have been, Rodolphus."

"And there's a rumour that you and he are going to marry at the Ministry, just the two of you," Rodolphus said. Bellatrix frowned deeply.

"I don't see what business it is of yours."

"I want you to be happy," Rodolphus pressed. "I would have spent these next two years making you so happy as your intended, and then we would have had a grand wedding, and then I would have -"

"Don't worry, Rodolphus. I'm going to be extremely happy," Bellatrix assured him. "Don't you worry yourself for even one moment over my happiness. My next two years will be spent in bliss, and my wedding will be just what I want, and then I shall live quite happily with my husband, the lord we shall all serve. All of us, in due time."

Rodolphus tipped his head and nodded. "I think he's given you a potion. A love potion."

"That's rich," Bellatrix scoffed. "I'm not marrying you, and I love him, so clearly I've been dosed with a love potion? That's something, Rodolphus."

His cheeks went red. He opened his mouth to speak, but then suddenly he went quiet, flicking his eyes to the side as a figure approached the table. Bellatrix turned and saw Albus Dumbledore walking right up to her. He had concern in his pale blue eyes, and he seemed to be studying her very closely.

"Miss Black," said Dumbledore in a soft voice, "Forgive an old man his mental folly, but I had the impression when you walked into the Great Hall today that you had something to deliver to me. Was that your intention? I do not mean to interrupt what I am certain is an illuminating conversation with Mr Lestrange, but…"

"As it happens, sir, I have got something for you. And you can open it right here, right in front of Rodolphus," Bellatrix said, tipping up her chin a bit. She reached into her leather knapsack and pulled out the parchment she'd filled out in her History of Magic lesson. She handed it up to Professor Dumbledore, who took it in his fingers with a delicate grasp. He peered over his half-moon spectacles and read aloud,

"_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I am writing to inform you of my withdrawal from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I shall be continuing my education elsewhere. As soon as I have turned seventeen years of age, I shall leave the school permanently. I trust there will be no impediment to my departure. I wish you and all the staff and students well in all future endeavours, and I thank you kindly for the stellar education I have been given here at Hogwarts._

_Warm regards,_

_Bellatrix Black_"

Rodolphus Lestrange looked like he'd swallowed a toad. He stared at Bellatrix, who raised her brows proudly, and his eyes went round as saucers. Bellatrix looked up at Professor Dumbledore, and he rolled the letter into a scroll. He tucked it into his robes and folded his hands before him. He shook his head a little, his face serious.

"Miss Black, I could not possibly advise strongly enough against this plan Tom Riddle has hatched for you."

"I assure you, sir, that it was me who begged him to let me come home." That was the truth, too, Bellatrix thought. But Dumbledore tipped his head and scratched a little at his hair beneath his tasseled hat.

"Tom Riddle," he began, "is a uniquely manipulative fellow. I do not doubt that you asked him to leave school. I do not doubt that you were elated to receive an offer of marriage from him. I also do not doubt -"

"Please, sir, if I may interrupt," Bellatrix cut in rudely, her voice snapping and her thick brows furrowing, "When I was twelve years old, I was the one beseeching Mr Riddle to teach me what he knew. There was no manipulation then, and there is no manipulation now."

Dumbledore licked his bottom lip and nodded. "I've no doubt that it is difficult to see, from where you stand. Tom Riddle obscures things very well."

"You certainly ascribe him all manner of talent," Bellatrix pointed out, "for someone who thinks so little of him."

"On the contrary, Miss Black," Dumbledore said almost sadly, "I am in awe of Mr Riddle. It is why I believe him to be so very dangerous… for you more than just about anyone else. For you, still, are not wholly Darkened, Miss Black. You may believe yourself to be, but you are not. I know it. Go home on your birthday, surrender yourself mind, body, and soul to Tom Riddle, and you will be lost forever. How could I, in good conscience, allow such a thing?"

Bellatrix scoffed quietly and stared right at him. "How could you stop it, Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore gazed down at Bellatrix again, and she felt an odd prickle inside her skull. All of a sudden, she saw images rushing behind her eyes. Voldemort teaching her about poisons, the two of them discussing her aspirations of using the Cruciatus Curse, kissing Voldemort after stealing wine, begging him at King's Cross not to send her back.

"Get out of my head!" Bellatrix shrieked, and very abruptly, the Great Hall fell silent. Students stopped their conversations. Rodolphus Lestrange stared at Bellatrix like she had three heads. And Albus Dumbledore took a large, slow step backward.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "more damage has already been done than I had thought. And you are right, Miss Black. There is nothing I can do - not in the bylaws of the school, nor in the Ministry's laws - to detain you on these grounds after your seventeenth birthday. I can notify your parents now, since you are still sixteen, of your intention to leave, but somehow I suspect they will be neither surprised nor disappointed in you. I suspect that on the twenty-first of September, Tom Riddle will be waiting for you somewhere in Hogsmeade, seeing as you haven't got an Apparition licence yet. I can follow you down to the village and confront him…"

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes as the heavy silence around them just seemed to grow weightier and more significant. Dumbledore finished,

"But I fail to see what that would accomplish, aside from some property damage and a few scrapes and bruises and some wounded pride. No. It is best, I think, to simply let you go of your own volition, and I thank you most kindly for the considerate notification of your withdrawal. Educating you here has been an honour, a privilege, and a pleasure, and you will be sorely missed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Will I?" Bellatrix smirked. Dumbledore nodded, looking around.

"The time before lessons begin again is quickly slipping away from you all," he said loudly, "Please, students, do hurry up and eat."

**Author's Note: And in the next chapter, we'll actually get to see her come home and be of age and everything that goes along with that. Mwah hahahaha. Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	12. Birthday

"Here you are, Mr Riddle. Butterbeer and a steak pasty."

"Thank you."

Lord Voldemort sat in the Three Broomsticks and slid a Galleon across the table to the serving wench who had brought him his drink and food. He was early; Bellatrix wasn't expected for another twenty-five minutes. But damned if he wasn't going to be here when she arrived.

He picked up his pasty and was suddenly taken back. He shut his eyes and bit into the pasty, tasting steak and potato, and he vividly remembered a lunch shared in his office. Bellatrix had been thirteen years old. She had promised to arrive by noon, but when she'd come, her stomach had been rumbling audibly - she'd come without eating any lunch. Voldemort had ordered them up some steak and potato pasties from Dobby, and the two of them had talked for hours about flowering plants used in poisons and other Dark potioneering.

Now Voldemort set down his pasty and sipped his Butterbeer, but all that did was trigger another memory. Bellatrix had been fifteen and they'd been at a gathering at Malfoy Manor. She'd tried to sneak some gin and gillywater from the bartender, but Voldemort had caught her and had scolded her before giving her a Butterbeer. _You're not yet grown enough for gin, you awful little creature, _he'd told her. But she was grown now. She'd all grown up now.

He remembered the first night he'd stared at his ceiling, his forehead sweating as he'd come to realise that Bellatrix was not, in fact, a child anymore. She had sprouted breasts - smooth, lovely swells beneath her tunics. Her waist had narrowed and her hips had a curve to them. And beyond the woman's form that she'd acquired, her voice had grown a bit more gravelly. Her eyes looked just the slightest bit weary. She stood differently; she carried herself like a woman.

Voldemort had been in bed thinking about all that, about the way Bellatrix had blossomed into a grown witch, and he'd shut his eyes in desperation. He had taken her as a student when she had been a gangly, bright-eyed twelve-year-old little girl. What was he meant to do with this beautiful Dark woman?

Suddenly he jolted to attention in the Three Broomsticks, jarred out of his memories by the sound of the bell ringing above the door. His eyes flicked up, and his breath suddenly quivered in his nostrils as a curly-haired witch in Slytherin robes came striding over the threshold.

Bella. His Bella.

Voldemort flew to his feet, sliding off the bench, ignoring his Butterbeer and his steak pasty. He felt eyes on him in the pub as he walked with brisk, long strides across the floorboards, approaching Bellatrix and, on instinct, sweeping her into an embrace.

"Happy birthday," he murmured. "I've got your gift at home."

She giggled against his chest, and as she pulled away, she said,

"My trunk and owl are outside. I had a hell of a time getting them both down here by myself."

"Well done, then." Voldemort petted her hair. He glanced over his shoulder at the way the pub had gone utterly silent, and he wordlessly guided Bellatrix outside, out into the street. The door shut behind them, and he said,

"It's lunch time. Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine, Master. I just want to leave," she told him. "Let's not give Dumbledore the opportunity to confront both of us here, shall we? He'd ruminated on the idea of doing that; I'd like to just go to the manor."

Voldemort gave her a crisp nod. He'd spoken personally with Cygnus Black just the day before, confirming his plans to come pick up Bellatrix. But one question had lingered after his meeting with Cygnus, an unanswered question whose solution Voldemort still did not have. He gulped and asked Bellatrix softly,

"When?"

She blinked up at him. She knew exactly what he meant. When would they marry? He was leaving the decision in her hands. Initially, they'd said Christmas. But she was seventeen now. They could marry whenever she felt comfortable doing so. Suddenly a wide grin broke out across Bellatrix's face, and she shrugged.

"Today. Let's drop my trunk and owl off at Malfoy Manor and go straight to the Ministry."

"Today?" Voldemort choked out a barking sort of sound, utterly shocked. "You'll have to change clothes, Bella; I won't marry you in Slytherin robes."

"Why not?" she teased him. "Don't want to marry a schoolgirl?" But then her smile faded a little, and she pulled at the hem of her robe, and she nodded. "I'll put on a nice dress. I'll go to my parents' house and change."

"Right," Voldemort agreed. He picked up Bellatrix's owl and shoved it at her. "Hold onto this. We're going to Malfoy Manor."

An hour later, he was pacing in his office, dressed in formal black brocade robes. He stared at the palm of his hand, at the large, chunky black ring he'd Conjured for himself and the much smaller ring he'd made to match Bellatrix's unique engagement design. He closed his fingers around the rings and tucked them away into his chest pocket. He shut his eyes and wondered if he had gone mad. Lord Voldemort should not marry, he thought. Lord Voldemort should climb solo. But the idea of Bellatrix marrying Rodolphus Lestrange had been disgusting, repugnant, painful. He could not abide it. He needed her for himself. She had been his since childhood, and now that she was a grown witch, she would be his in a different way.

Today was her seventeenth birthday, and he was going to make her his wife today.

"Enter," he called when he heard knocking on his office door. She came walking in looking like a vision in Darkness, and Voldemort's jaw dropped. She wore a high-necked black lace dress, with long lace sleeves and a hem that didn't quite reach her knees. Her wild curls had been tamed into a chignon at the nape of her neck, with a few stray ringlets falling loose. She was wearing bold winged eyeliner and lipstick the colour of blood. She had on shoes with heels that looked like they would pierce anything. She smiled, almost shyly, at Voldemort, and she asked,

"Do I look like a child now, Master?"

He swallowed hard. "No."

"Do I look like a witch you might want to marry?" she inquired, and he nodded. He approached her and said,

"You look like a witch I want to marry, then bring home so that I might make love to her properly at last. Then, tomorrow, we shall begin our lessons. What do you think of that?"

"Mmm." Bellatrix threaded her arms up around his shoulders and shut her eyes. She was so beautiful he could hardly stand it. She smelled cold and crisp. He wanted badly to kiss her, but her lipstick looked carefully done. She surprised him by saying, "I've charmed the lipstick to stay; will you please kiss me?"

"Yes." Voldemort dove down then, crushing her mouth with his as he plunged his tongue into her mouth. His hands searched her waist, and he guided her over to his desk for some reason. He groaned against her lips and reached between them, his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh. She bumped backward into his desk, and he had a sudden urge to keep pushing. He urged her up onto the desk, and she wriggled until she was sitting on the edge. He reached into her dress and hooked his fingers on the waistband of her knickers, and once more she squirmed, freeing herself from the underwear until Voldemort tossed them away.

Everything was happening so quickly that he couldn't keep track of what was going on. He was unbuttoning his trousers under his outer robe. Bellatrix was aiming her wand at herself and murmuring a contraceptive charm. Smart girl. Voldemort was pulling out his rigid cock and shoving his trousers down a bit, approaching Bellatrix and staring into her eyes as he breathlessly said,

"Here? Now?"

"I can't wait any longer," she insisted. He couldn't recall, all of a sudden, who had initiated this. Hadn't it been him, shoving her over to the desk? But she was the one saying she couldn't wait. Neither of them could wait. This simply had to happen. Now. Here.

He touched the tip of his cock to her entrance and knew he'd hurt her if he pushed in like this, so he put his lips beside her ear and whispered,

"Spread your legs for me, Bella."

She moaned a little at that, but she did as he said. He pressed one hand to the small of her back and used the other hand to steady himself on her thigh, and he entered her. He went slowly, carefully, but he still faced resistance from her virgin body. Perhaps not as much resistance as he'd been expecting, though, he thought. He kissed at the skin beneath her ear and wormed his way into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency. He saw memories of her in her bed at the Black family home, using candles and other makeshift toys to pleasure herself. Naughty. She'd been a very naughty girl. She'd readied her body for this. He thrust in and out a few times, and she tipped her head back. Wanton little thing; she liked it.

He kissed at her neck and tried not to destroy her hairstyle as he touched her face and head. In and out, in and out. Steady and sure, he pumped himself into the sweet warmth and tightness of her body. He cast a nonverbal contraceptive charm, unwilling to trust her young magic on such an important matter. He squeezed at her thigh, his fingertips digging into her flesh, and all of a sudden he felt contractions around his cock. He pulled back and saw Bellatrix flushed red, her mouth fallen open and her eyes hooded. She was coming, he realised. He'd made her come. He shoved himself roughly into her body and wrenched his eyes shut, driven over the edge by the idea of that. He spilled himself right into her, spurt after spurt of his come filling her before leaking out and trickling down the inside of her thigh. Voldemort saw spots. He heard ringing. And as he came down from his eye, he heard Bellatrix whisper,

"I am in love with you. Did you know that?"

He was silent as he tucked his cock away and cast nonverbal spells to Siphon and Scour the mess on her body. She slid off the desk and reached for her knickers, and she prompted him,

"Master?"

"I heard you," he snapped. He licked his lip and dragged his fingers over his hair. He cleared his throat roughly and pointed at the desk. There was a scroll there, bound with black ribbon and sealed with wax, and he gulped as he told Bellatrix, "Your birthday gift. May as well open it now, if you please."

She gnawed her lip, apparently thinking she was in trouble for what she'd said. She reached for the scroll and picked it up, breaking the seal and unfurling it. She read aloud, quietly, her voice more in awe with each passing word.

"_Bella,_

_I have desired you for far longer than has been appropriate. The simple bond of teacher and student between us was breached a while ago, though it was no fault of yours that such a thing came to pass. All you did was grow up and become beautiful and wicked and intelligent and wonderful._

_And I fell in love._

_I only now realise that that is what has happened. It is a complicated thing, parsing out precisely what a person means to you. Soon you shall be my wife, but (especially among Purebloods) husbands and wives often go about without love. And I, for nearly all of my life, have considered myself quite happily incapable of the sensation._

_But I know that I am in love now._

_And I should like to ask you to go to Ireland with me to master Occlumency, just the two of us, in a quiet place where we might be alone for just a little while. You have come home, and I am in love with you, and I should like to drink tea with you in the mornings before we start our lessons._

_So, that is your birthday gift, Bella. An invitation to Ireland, and a confession of love. Happy birthday to the witch full grown._

_Your Master._"

"So?" Voldemort asked, folding his hands before him. "Will you go with me to Ireland to master Occlumency?"

"Of course I will." Bellatrix rolled up the letter and grinned. "Of course I will. Now, let's go get married, shall we?"

Everyone stared at them at the Ministry, but Voldemort paid it all absolutely no heed. He Conjured deep red roses for Bellatrix. The actual ceremony in the office of registrations took less than two minutes; they exchanged rings and made promises and signed some parchments. And that was that. They were married. They came back to Malfoy Manor and had dinner with the Malfoys, announcing that they were married to great celebratory drinking of wine and eating of desserts. Bellatrix sent an owl off to her parents asking that the House-Elves arrange for her belongings to be transferred now that she was a married witch.

That night, Voldemort let her sleep in one of his tunics since she didn't have her nightgowns yet. They climbed into his bed, and Bellatrix studied the two rings on her finger. Voldemort dragged his thumb over them, and he finally met her eyes and whispered,

"_Legilimens._"

She had no way of keeping him out. He searched through her thoughts, tormenting her by looking at times she'd wished she'd had friends, times she'd fought with her sister, times she'd grown frustrated in her lessons with Voldemort. He finally pulled out of her head and kissed her cheek, saying,

"Soon enough, your mind will be a fortress even I won't be able to enter, Bellatrix."

"I'll let you in sometimes," she teased. She stroked at his face and purred, "I'm not too sore from earlier."

He snorted. "Moderation in all things."

She huffed. "Oh, very well. But it is so enjoyable. _That._ Sex."

"It is, isn't it?" He smirked at her. He brushed his fingers over her hair. "Particularly when one is quite fond of the partner."

"Have you had many partners?" Bellatrix asked gravely. Her eyes went rather wide, and Voldemort chewed his lip.

"I am… forty-one years old. One might expect a man of my age to be experienced, particularly given how handsome young Tom Riddle was. But, no, Bella; I never had time for it. I was too busy learning. Studying. Climbing."

"But I promise I shall never keep you from climbing," Bellatrix vowed. "I shall be a tool for you as you climb."

"I know that." Voldemort kissed her cheek again and lay down on his pillow. "Get some rest, you lovely birthday girl, you. We've got a trip for Ireland to prepare for in the morning."

**Author's Note: A very happy Mother's Day tomorrow to all those celebrating. Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	13. Occlumency

The place in Ireland was a grey stone cottage on a little hill overlooking the sea, just outside Squince in County Cork. Voldemort had packed food in an Expanded bag, and once they got to the cottage, he Banished the food to the pine cupboards in the tiny kitchen. Bellatrix smiled at the quaint little place, and she stared out the window as it began to rain. She pressed her hand to the cold glass and observed the vibrantly green grass round the cottage, leading in a rocky tumble down to the beach where the waves were crashing in on the sand. It began to rain just a little harder, and Bellatrix murmured,

"It is peaceful here."

"Come," said a voice from just behind her. "Come with me and let us begin our lessons, Bella."

"Now, Master?" she turned round to face him, pressing her hands to his chest as she studied his face. He nodded.

"Yes. Now. We can't stay here forever, and I want you to become an expert with this. With Occlumency. So come sit by the fire and let us begin."

She walked with him into the tiny sitting room, where two peach-coloured wingback armchairs were facing one another. There was a fireplace, whitewashed stone, and Bellatrix gazed into the fireplace as Voldemort pulled out his wand and aimed it at the charred bricks.

"_Incendio_," he murmured, and flames suddenly burst into the fireplace and licked the bricks. Bellatrix sank into one of the chairs, and Voldemort sat opposite her. She pulled out her wand, and he told her in a calm, steady voice,

"Occlumency involves ridding the mind of all thoughts and emotions such that memories, ideas, and sensations can not be properly pulled or read by a Legilimens. Ultimately, the goal is to become skilled enough with Occlumency to trick a Legilimens with false memories or fabricated emotions. But for now, we shall focus on complete and utter blankness, on _nothingness._"

"Nothingness," Bellatrix repeated. She blinked, staring at her master's scarred and damaged face. He was her husband now, she thought to herself. They were married.

"You are not at all blank at the moment," Voldemort smirked, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She shut her eyes and whispered,

"I don't know how to make my mind blank."

"First, you must become aware of what is in your mind," Voldemort told her. "Once you are aware of what is in there, you can become far more attuned to the task of shoving it away. Let us begin with an exercise. Make yourself comfortable in the chair and close your eyes."

Bellatrix put her wand in her lap and put a hand on each arm of the chair, tipping her head back a little. She shut her eyes and listened as Voldemort instructed,

"Now I want you to count your breaths. Count ten breaths, and try your best to focus on your breathing."

_In. One._ _Out._ Bellatrix tried to direct her attention to the way air filled and left her lungs. She repeated the action a few times, counting in her mind. _In. Five. Out._

"What are you thinking about?" She heard Voldemort ask suddenly. Bellatrix jolted and realised she'd been thinking about Rodolphus Lestrange and Albus Dumbledore, at the meeting where she'd announced she was leaving school. She cleared her throat.

"Dumbledore and Rodolphus, Master."

"Shove the thought of them away. Focus on your breathing. Count to fifteen," Voldemort said. Bellatrix nodded. She shut her eyes a bit more tightly and breathed in again. _In. Six. Out. In. Seven. Out._

She reached fifteen, and then she kept breathing slowly. Her mind felt empty, except for the sounds of the fire crackling every now and then.

"What are you thinking about?" murmured a voice, and Bellatrix responded,

"The sounds of the fire, Master."

"What do you smell?" he asked her. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the aromas of the room.

"The oldness of the room," she said. "The fire. You."

"What do you hear?" he pressed. Bellatrix listened.

"The fire. Rain on the windows. My own breath."

"What do you feel?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix gnawed her lip.

"Anxiety in my belly, Master. The chair beneath my hands."

"What do you taste?"

"Spearmint toothpaste," she replied at once, and after a long while, he finally said,

"Open your eyes and tell me what you see."

She did as he said. She opened her eyes, blinking like a newborn, and looked round the little room.

"I see my husband and master," she said, "sitting opposite me in a salmon-coloured chair. I see a fire in a fireplace. I see whitewashed walls and a beam ceiling. I see a window with rain streaming down it. I see the grassy hill out back. I see into the kitchen."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "Clear it all away. Make your mind as blank as you possibly can. Clear it of absolutely everything. No thoughts. No emotions. No sensations. You see, hear, feel, taste, and smell nothing. You think of nothing. Shut your eyes and imagine a great void. Fall into it. Keep falling."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and heard the rain pattering on the window. She could see Dumbledore's face in her mind. Then she remembered what Voldemort had said. See nothing. Taste nothing. Hear nothing. Feel nothing. She imagined herself leaping off of a cliff into a great black abyss, falling and falling and never stopping. There was just black emptiness around her.

Suddenly the sound of the rain faded away, and Dumbledore's face was gone. Her mind was empty and black and cold. She was falling. Falling, falling, falling.

"Bella! Bella!"

She jarred to attention, realising that someone was shaking her. She looked up to see Voldemort kneeling before her chair, his hands on her shoulders. He was grinning like a madman, and Bellatrix smiled a little.

"Sorry… I…"

"You went into a trance," Voldemort told her. He petted her hair. "You are truly a gifted Occlumens, with raw talent for this. All we'll have to do is hone your ability so that you can control your blankness and come out of it at your own will. But I went into your head and searched and searched, and I found nothing, Bellatrix. Nothing. I encountered you falling through a great black emptiness, and I couldn't push through it. You did brilliantly. Absolutely brilliantly. But, then, I've always known you were brilliant."

Bellatrix's eyes watered at that. She nodded a little and whispered, "So we shall try to refine what I can do until I can control it better. Shall we begin now?"

"No, not now, Bella. You've been in a trance for almost an hour," Voldemort told her, and Bellatrix realised then that it had stopped raining. She blinked rapidly a few times and rolled her shoulders, feeling achy.

"I might like to go for a walk," she said. "I'm sore."

"I'll bet you were; you were wound up like a clock," Voldemort told her. He rose and held out his hand to her, which she gladly accepted. Voldemort went to the coat rack and fetched their cloaks, and Bellatrix pulled hers on over her black velvet dress. She followed Voldemort to the little robin's egg blue door of the cottage and walked outside with him. He took her hand and laced it through his arm, and as she walked beside him, she was reminded of just how short she was and just how tall he was.

"So I did well, then, Master?" Bellatrix asked, and he scoffed as they began to walk on the grass. Bellatrix glanced down to the sea and then back up to Voldemort.

"You did spectacularly well," he told her. "All you needed was a little push. Now all you'll need is a little pull. You're brilliant with this; I'm terribly impressed."

"Was it this easy for you, when you learnt it?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort laughed a little. He scratched at his thinning hair and said,

"I taught myself. Both Occlumency and Legilimency. They came quite intuitively to me. When I showed off my skills on the Continent, nobody believed I was self-taught."

"Do you think I could be a Legilimens?" Bellatrix asked Voldemort. He frowned at her and nodded.

"Yes. Probably. But it's a burden as much as a gift. Sometimes you go prying and find out things you didn't want to know."

"I'm nosy," Bellatrix said. "I'll bet I'd love being a Legilimens."

"Well. Let's focus on your Occlumency and your duelling first, shall we?" Voldemort suggested, and Bellatrix nodded.

"As you wish, Master."

He stopped walking then, and he turned to face her. He licked his bottom lip and said,

"I feel that there is a rather glaring matter of import between us that has not been properly addressed, and we are already married."

Bellatrix blinked. "Is something wrong?"

Voldemort scuffed his dragon-hide boot on the mossy ground and huffed a breath. He stared at the sea for a long moment and then finally asked,

"Do you want children?"

"No." Bellatrix answered him immediately. He turned his face to her, tipping his head as if curious, and she clarified, "No, not really. I will be far too busy being a soldier for you to be a mother, I should think."

"Right." Voldemort sucked on his bottom lip. "Good. I am glad that is settled. When we go back to England, I shall brew you up a long-term contraceptive potion. No mistakes, right? It's cold out here."

"So it is, Master." Bellatrix reached for his hand and dragged her thumb over his knuckles. She met his eyes and asked him, "Do you really love me?"

He bent down to brush his lips against hers, and when he stood, he mumbled, "Do you know, I really, really do. Let's go have tea."

**THE END**

**Author's Note: Well, this was a fun little romp (if you know my writing, you know I break my stories up into romps and novel-length works). It's time to get back to **_**To Be Beguil'd By One, **_**so I'll finish this one here. Thanks very much for reading.**


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